


Benedict

by TigersEye1



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Financial Issues, Flashbacks, Humor, M/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 68,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigersEye1/pseuds/TigersEye1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Columbia-educated actor Alexander Hamilton has been fighting his way to the top of the New York theater scene for the past six years. With director George Washington's new musical about to start casting, he now needs to win one last fight to get the role of his dreams - but he didn't know beating out Broadway darling Aaron Burr and West End star Thomas Jefferson for the part would just be the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alex was bored.

No, that wasn’t quite the right word – he was restless. His boundless energy was the cause of and the solution for every problem he had encountered in his life, and he felt like he was heading for a fairly big problem.

At that moment, he was prone on the floor of his chaotically decorated dressing room, clad in a bright red toga. This was his three hundred and twenty-first performance of _Julian Kaiser and Bruno_ , and it should have been getting easier. Without feeling any pride or humility at all, he had come to expect the standing ovation when he took his solo bow each night.  His starring turn as Bruno was the only reason this bastardization of _Julius Caesar_ was still running, if the critics and tweets were anything to go by.  It also wasn’t a secret that the director of this particular train wreck was an incompetent blowhard -- Charles Lee had a reputation for using his connections to win jobs without any particular or coherent vision for the work, but he was so ingrained in the New York theatre scene that producers just kept giving him the benefit of the doubt.  

Alex knew all that, and accepted the job anyway. He could put up with it for a little longer. He had to keep working, keep pushing to get to what was next. The problem now was that Lee knew he was auditioning again. It’s not like he was trying to keep it secret, but he should have known Lee would choose the passive aggression tool from his toolbelt in response. Suddenly he had notes and critiques on every performance, despite Alex’s non-stop dedication to this role for the better part of a year.  

“Alex, at the end of the third act, you should step back when you say your closing line.”

“Uh, okay, but I’ve been stepping forward with it to emphasize the shift in the character’s thinking–-“

“No I know, but just step back, show that you’re retreating from your initial arc.  It’s not hitting the way you think it does.”

It was all background noise. Tomorrow, finally, was his audition for the show that was still editing its book back when Lee’s show was ready to workshop. Benedict Arnold was the role of a lifetime -- a physical and mental challenge that he had never yet experienced. The playwright had laid the foundation, and the director was certain to make the vision of _Benedict_ a Tony-award sweeping reality. Alex demurred whenever he was asked if he intended to leave his current production when his contract expired; he wanted to have his next role secured before he made the announcement. That way it would look as though he was moving _toward_ something, instead of away from his present circumstances.  Retreating was stupid, and Lee was stupid.  He was going to keep stepping forward.

Alex heaved himself off the floor and changed out of his ridiculous costume, back into jeans and a hoodie. He had just settled on the couch of his dressing room when a tentative knock sounded. Glancing toward the door, he sighed inwardly, stifling a flash of guilt. “Hey, John.”

John smiled, slightly flushed. “Hi. I was just wondering if you wanted to… oh, sorry, are you in the middle of something?”

Alex closed the biography of Arnold he had just picked up and stood up to stretch. Clearly John had left the post-show duties to his assistant stage manager. Lafayette was a good friend like that; he had probably gladly volunteered. John deserved good friends.

“Yeah, I was just… well. Every actor in the city is going out for this role so I’m looking for inspiration.”

“You’ll get it. No one can compete with you.” John’s adoration was pure and blinding and made him want to crawl out of his skin. Without even consciously realizing it, he had been starting to test the limits to John’s affection. He had pulled from the bag of various tricks that had been used against him in the past: take a day before responding to that text. Gradually stop extending brunch invitations via the eggs + popped champagne emojis. Feign confusion when asked if everything was okay. Why wouldn’t everything be okay?

And still John stayed. Steadfast. Loyal. It wasn’t enough. Alex had fought and and clawed to get where he was today, and he needed that fight to survive. He was restless.

Alex tossed the book on his couch and crossed the room. Reaching behind John, he shut the door and locked it. John’s eyes met his and he visibly relaxed. Alex felt the tension in his body surge in response, and he launched forward to capture John’s mouth with his own. The force of his weight propelled John to thud against the door, and his breath was knocked out of him with a huff. He started to say something but Alex continued his bodily advance, using his frame to drown out John’s words, his own thoughts. He was good at this. He knew it.

He nipped at John’s lip, kissing down his jawline to his throat. John gasped quietly, and reached out to touch Alex in return. Alex grabbed his wrists and pinned them next to his hips against the door, pulling away to make eye contact. _No touching._ John nodded, his smile reaching his eyes. _Got it._ Alex swallowed and moved back to John’s throat, itching to leave a mark but knowing that he shouldn’t.  He interrupted John’s quickening breaths to pull back again so he could yank his shirt over his head.  From there, he continued kissing, licking and biting his way down John’s body, using his hands wherever his mouth was not.

John had clenched his own hands into fists and screwed his eyes shut, anticipating, gasping for air. Alex was finally kneeling, evidence of John’s devoted, blinding interest before him. He was hard too, but he barely noticed. Overwhelmed, he leaned his head against John’s leg for a moment, and he felt John look down at him and lift a hand away from the door. Before he could touch him, Alex quickly unzipped John’s jeans, yanked down his boxer briefs and swallowed him, nose pressed against John’s lower belly. He pulled back to lick a stripe up the underside of his familiar length. He probed the tip with his tongue as he gripped him tight, comfortable, getting the predictable reaction. John now had a fist in his mouth, trying to muffle his moans, and Alex smiled, the edges not quite reaching his eyes. John was trying not to thrust, but Alex wanted him to. Sweet John. Fucked up Alex. He gripped John’s hips and pulled him forward into his mouth, gazing up to communicate his intent. John pressed a hand over his eyes for a moment, then placed both hands flat against the door and began to thrust in earnest. Alex relaxed his throat and didn’t care when he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t pull back when John signaled a warning, and didn’t feel anything at all when he spilled down his throat and John, boneless, sank down to join him on the floor, kissing him like he needed it to survive.

Alex waited a few beats, then rose up to return to the couch and picked up his book. John uncertainly pulled up his jeans and ran a hand through his hair, taking a step toward him. “Uh, do you want me to…?”

“No, that’s okay.  I should get back to this – the audition is tomorrow.  Thanks for stopping by though.” Alex looked up from the book, quirking one corner of his mouth and hooding his eyes, a facade of an expression that had gotten him into and out of too much trouble in the past. Too late, he saw John see exactly what he was doing, his own eyes shuttering in response. Dammit. This is why he should have ended this thing months ago. He liked John. He didn’t want to hurt him. But John had spent too much time studying him, watching him perform, and he wasn’t easily fooled.

“John-–“

“No, it’s okay, I’ll go. I guess I won’t see you tomorrow, so just go out there and kill that audition, okay?” John’s eyes were a little too bright and his smile too forced, and he left before Alex could respond.

He looked down at the image of Benedict Arnold on his lap and felt a pang in his chest. Now that his mind was racing again, three things occurred to him at once: number one, John would never be satisfied with their arrangement, and he needed to end it. Number two, he needed to get out of this dead-end show. And number three, by this time tomorrow, he would once again be face to face with Aaron Burr.

 

********************

 

 _“Salut!”_ Angelica sang out, approaching Thomas Jefferson in their usual meeting spot. And as usual, he was sipping a latte -– hair wild and thick black frames circling his deep brown eyes -– while frowning at his phone in Caffe Nero in London’s West End. The frown was her least favorite of his rainbow of expressions. She would never tell him this to his face, but she had once used the description _“his smile could light up the Paris skyline”_ to her sister in a text. She cringed thinking about it, and made a mental note to ask Eliza to delete that one. She didn’t need to risk him finding out about that. His head was big enough.

“So what’s new? Something trending on something that has somebody outraged?”

Thomas frowned harder at his screen. “Is it a day that ends in –y…?”

Angelica chuckled, and took a sip from the café au lait that he nudged across the table to her. Her husband’s company relocated them to London almost a year ago, and at the time, she had been excited to have an adventure. She had lived in New York all her life, save for a semester abroad in Paris, where she and Thomas met. But that was just an extended vacation, visiting museums and making a singular dent in France’s wine collection.  

This time, culture shock came crashing down swiftly and unexpectedly. Oh,  _at least they speak English,_  really? _Guess everything’s fine then! S_ he had always seen herself as the epitome of a New Yorker, which meant that she flatly assumed she was more cosmopolitan than she actually was. Angelica radiated confidence. Angelica was a woman that was as comfortable working the room in five-inch heels at one of her father’s political fundraisers as she was laughing herself to tears with her sisters on a lazy July afternoon in Central Park. Traveling in her early twenties had always been an adventure, with the knowledge that she would soon return to the place and the people that recharged her, reinforced her, adored her. She got married at a respectable age to a respectable man, and naively assumed that she would navigate a life overseas as easily as she could navigate an urban grid system.

Instead, she constantly felt like she was rubbing up against the edges of this new city. Her husband was working long hours, her sisters were five time zones away, and she had yet to find a way to put her art history degree to use in a society that preferred to exchange money for goods and services. She was listless, anonymous - somebody else entirely. She had been staring at the milk cartons in her local Tesco when she suddenly felt her eyes welling up, frustrated with the wrongness of the packaging. Hadn’t these people ever heard of a _gallon?_

Her phone dinged with a new notification, and she dove for it, desperate for the distraction. There was a new response to her post, _“Day 36 in London -- chasing dreams and downing pints!"_  Nobody needed to know she was crying over a pint of milk.  Angelica stared at the thumbnail picture of Thomas Jefferson cocking an eyebrow at the camera. “To the pursuit of happiness -- inboxed you my number.”

Seeing Thomas again had clarified how wrong she had been about her own version of herself. Having just one friend around highlighted how lonely she had been, and how much she had always taken for granted. Angelica had been delighted to find out Thomas was currently performing as Mufasa in a West End production of _The Lion King._  She had attended all of his various performances -- musicals, rap battles, spoken word _(_ _en français_ , no less) during their semester in Paris, and he had stolen every show. Thomas had secured front-row seats and backstage access for Angelica and her husband as a ‘welcome to the UK’ gift, and she was still in awe at the experience. The last time she had attended a show like this... no, she pushed away that memory, forcing herself to stay present. She was transformed with the score and sets, and transfixed by the characters. She barely recognized her old friend from the days of malfunctioning sound systems and amateur production values. Expansive Afro creating his mane and lithe body commanding the stage, his presence expanded to his extraordinary surroundings. She would never admit to getting teary at his death scene.  

Backstage, Thomas’ easy manner as he gave them a tour of the theatre reminded her of his popularity in their youth. He was almost awkward at times, biting with his retorts as good-natured jibes were hurled among cast and crew in the post-show exhilaration, but laughter came easily and she could see the respect for him from everyone she met. She sat silently next to her husband while he nodded off on the Tube back to their apartment that night, feeling a longing for something she couldn’t quite identify.

Ten months later, her regular meet-ups with Thomas in the break between his two-show days felt like a lifeline to her true self. His cantankerous attitude and quick wit kept her laughing when the homesickness threatened to overwhelm her. It was a good thing she was married. Not that it stopped him from flirting, but they both knew it was harmless. Thomas wasn’t interested in her like that.

“So really, what’s holding your attention in that thing when this bombshell is sitting in your field of vision?”

Thomas flicked her an amused glance, leaned back and placed his phone facedown on the table, his long legs stretching in front of him. “New dress?  Yellow suits you.” She glowed, inwardly. He didn’t seem to notice. “I just got an email from my agent… Apparently a director I’ve been dying to work with is just about to open auditions for this show that people have been talking about for roughly two years.”

Angelica felt her heart sink, already knowing the answer to her next question. “A new West End show?”

Thomas took his glasses off and met her eyes. “I’d have to move to New York.” She nodded, and forced a bright smile.

“It sounds like this is something you’ve been waiting for, so you should probably go get it.”

Thomas smiled his skyline smile back at her. “Solid advice from someone who is never satisfied with what she’s got. It’s been… wild, but lately I’ve been feeling like there’s something missing.”

Angelica ignored the sharp sting of his surgical cut to her greatest insecurity. “Well you haven’t had a boyfriend in what, five years?”

He unconsciously glanced at his phone and quickly looked away. “I’ve been doing just fine.”

“Please, spare me the details. I just mean, maybe you should get yourself a partner. They say it’s nice having someone to come home to.”

He looked at her dubiously. “Your husband’s a good man, Angelica.”

“Maybe you should marry him if you like him so much.”

Thomas smiled, kindly. “I’m sorry.  It’s not my business anyway.” He changed the subject. “If I can get a role in Washington’s show…damn. They call him the General, because nobody questions his command of the stage. He knows what he wants and he gets it done.”

“Sounds like somebody else I know.” She took the last sips of her coffee. “Well, I wish you the best of luck, Thomas. Or, sorry, leg-breaking, is it? Here’s to Broadway’s next big star.” She held out her empty cup and he clicked his against it, the soft thud nearly swallowed by his softer, “and the pursuit of happiness.”

 

********************

“Stand by.”

White light blinded the unit as a deafening boom echoed in the distance. John kept his eyes straight ahead, murmuring the command as his company held their collective breath for his awaited, “Go, 72.”

As the final lighting cue was executed and the actors reemerged from the wings, the entire audience rose to its feet and burst into applause. John cracked his neck and stifled a yawn. Stage managing this...creative… reinvention of _Julius Caesar_ off-Broadway was not for the faint of heart, but opening night was 320 shows ago and his nerves had long since subsided. The show had mixed reviews, but the critics agreed that the weaknesses in the dialogue were supplemented by the strength of the lead actors. Working with the unpredictable and generally unpleasant director Charles Lee was not his first choice, but it was a job, and… there were other benefits.

His wandering mind snapped back to the present as Hamilton stepped forward to take a second bow, the cheering from the house now as deafening as the final sound cue. John leaned forward again, his gaze focusing. Hamilton adjusted the sword on his red toga, now stained redder with corn syrup and dye, and raised his fingertips to meet his lips. John didn’t realize that he had sucked in a breath. He knew that the bright stage lights prevented anyone on stage from seeing much beyond the fifth row, but he convinced himself that when Hamilton outstretched his kissed fingers and scanned the back of the house, their eyes met.

John suddenly glanced to his right and realized that his assistant stage manager was watching him. He arranged his face into Professional Neutral. “Well, a few bumps tonight… but does the audience really _need_ that lighting cue in _addition_ to the swelling music as Bruno steps forward to reveal his change of heart? We should trust them to recognize the nuance of his decision after an hour and a half of leading that particular horse to the water.”

Lafayette blinked and nodded slowly, tossing one last pointed glance to the curtain, now obscuring the triumphant but exhausted hugs and celebration from the cast. “You should probably get backstage and face Lee’s wrath for fucking up his climactic moment. Then we can go get drunk.”

John stared unseeing as the audience filed out of the theater, a steady babbling broken by pockets of laughter and exclamations recounting various scenes from the virtually unrecognizable version of Shakespeare that they had witnessed. The pause was long enough to prompt Lafayette to sigh dramatically. “Or… I can go get drunk with the crew and we can all pretend that we don’t know that you and the star of our show are going home together.”

John closed his eyes and swallowed a sad smile, ignoring Lafayette’s bait. This was not the time or the place to word vomit everything he was feeling. He was professionally senior to his friend on this production, but they had a long history. They had been a team -- laughing over prop fails, fighting over production decisions -- ever since their first victorious staging of _Jesus Christ Superstar_ junior year of college. They also were together when John first met Alexander Hamilton.

Lafayette liked to remind him that he knew the moment that Hamilton strutted into that audition and locked up the role for Judas _(“He didn’t_ strut _, Laf, for God’s sake he was just walking”)_ that John was in trouble. Their affair lasted as long as the two-week show ran, and ended just as abruptly when John got word that Alex had started dating some Alpha Chi Omega sister he met at a sorority party just before winter break. John blocked Hamilton’s number, and Lafayette showed up at his dorm room one night with a handle of Grey Goose. They finished the bottle playing “Never Have I Ever” while John solely referenced explicit recountings of what he had done with Hamilton. (Lafayette told him later that he was glad he didn’t remember the details of that night too clearly.)

Over the years John kept tabs on Hamilton as they moved on separate planes in the theater universe. It’s not like he _stalked_ him or anything. He just wanted to know how he was doing, like any former classmate would.  Turns out he was decidedly not pining over the absence of John, if the succession of partners in his Instagram feed was anything to go by. Hamilton’s star kept rising as he kept beating out more experienced actors for leading roles, but their paths had never crossed again until the day John was zoned out in the theater pretending to feign interest in the casting for _Julian Kaiser and Bruno_ when Alexander Hamilton strutted  -- _dammit Lafayette -–_ into the theater, the lead role and back into his life.

 

_The day rehearsals started, John was huddled alone in the wings. He was absorbed in his book, updating set change cues Lee had ordered and with which he silently disagreed, when Hamilton appeared in front of him. They hadn’t spoken to each other in the better part of a decade –- in fact, John wasn’t even sure Hamilton remembered that they knew each other –- so he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “Was there something you needed, Alexander?”_

_Hamilton laughed. He had grown out his hair for this role, and John wanted to run his fingers through the silky black strands more than Julian Kaiser wanted to be king of the goblins. He said, “I can think of something, John. It’s been… what, seven years?”  John could not pluck a single reaction from the raging abyss where his brain used to be, and settled on staring at Hamilton’s face -- shadows under his eyes more pronounced that he remembered, but the same quirk to his lips -- waiting for any of the millions of English words he had memorized to come back to him. “John?  What are you waiting for?”_

_John’s eyes widened as Hamilton took a step closer to him. So that answered the_ 'does he remember we had sex’ _question and then Hamilton was looking at him with bedroom eyes, barely any space between them, and Hamilton was softly kissing the side of his mouth, and Hamilton had a hand on his neck, pulling him closer, and he couldn’t believe this was actually happening and he had been snacking on pretzels and hummus a few minutes ago_ did he smell like garlic was this going to end his second chance with Alexander Hamilton before it began oh god why didn’t he have gum? _A moment or ten years later their lips aligned and the kiss deepened and Hamilton’s hand started to drift down his side when the chatter of approaching company members snapped John out of his trance as he broke away, cheeks flushed and gasping for air. Hamilton shifted so his weight was on one leg, and stared at the ground until they were alone again.  As the silence descended, his eyes slowly moved up John’s body to his face, which he knew was bright red. Hamilton laughed again, kindly, and gave him a small peck on the lips before turning back toward his dressing room.  “Well, John. I’m glad we’ll have the chance to…work together again.”_

 

That was nine months ago now. It had barely taken another week before John was following him into that dressing room after a particularly emotional performance, boldly inviting him back to his apartment, allowing the hurricane to wash over him. They had never defined what they were to each other, and John told himself he didn’t have any expectations. Whenever he started to broach the conversation, Hamilton found a way to deflect. Still, maybe someday…

Lafayette had moved away and taken over barking instructions for the crew to clean up for the night and set up for tomorrow’s show. The apprehension of facing a pissed-off Lee over the lighting cue warred with his desire to find Hamilton backstage to try to fix, again, what he didn’t even remember breaking. Something had changed between them recently. John knew that Hamilton was auditioning for other shows, that he planned to leave as soon as his contract expired. He tried to convince himself that Hamilton was just focused elsewhere, balancing eight shows a week with the energy he needed to secure the next job, and it wasn’t personal. He’d been trying that for a while now.

John Laurens was an accomplished professional theater technician and aspiring director from a family steeped in the Broadway tradition. He was a loyal friend to those in his inner circle, and he had dreams of working toward creating the most successful Broadway play in history featuring a majority cast with actors of color -- and suddenly, improbably, he was getting close to achieving that dream.  Yet whenever Hamilton smiled at him, ran his fingertips down his throat, kissed him hard enough to steal his breath away, he felt as though he was in the eye of that hurricane, just barely holding on until the next wave crashed over him. He needed to chase that feeling.

He stood up and headed toward the stage.

********************

 

Jefferson held aloft a scalding cup in each hand as he scanned the crowded Caffe Nero for a table with two seats, his phone buzzing insistently in his pocket. Goddamn tourists. Acting like they have a right to sit here and enjoy their coffee while they kill time before seeing the show that paid his salary. Two teenagers leisurely stood up from a table in the corner and he beelined for it, narrowly beating out an American couple who had just stepped inside, loudly complaining about the rain. He smiled serenely at them and took a long sip from his coffee, mustering all of his strength to mask the fact that he had just burned the everloving shit out of his soft palate. The couple shared annoyed looks with each other and resumed peering around the overcrowded cafe while Jefferson immediately dropped the grin and glared at the offending cup. Traitor.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. His agent had finally sent him the information for the upcoming audition for Washington’s new show, and he stared down at it, probing his tongue against the tender roof of his mouth. He swiped over to re-read an iMessage conversation he had stopped responding to several hours earlier.

 

Madison: U up?

Jefferson: It’s 1:00 in the afternoon, so I am obviously up, and can only assume that was the start of a transatlantic booty call.

Madison: Ugh it’s 8:00 a.m. in NY and I haven’t had coffee yet so leave me alone

Jefferson: You messaged me.

Madison:  RIGHT, so did your agent send you the audition info?!  I’m telling you man, you have to be in this show

Jefferson: Not yet.

Madison: I met with Washington yesterday, he told me he loved my costume design for _Let Them Eat Cake_ and he wants to work with me!!!1!  I’ve been talking you up,

Madison: Tough competition though, not gonna lie

Madison: I heard Burr is coming out for it… and that other dude I told you about, Alexander Hamilton? He’s managed to single-handedly keep Charles Lee’s epic goblin clusterfuck running for like a year, I think I told you I saw it last month

 

Jefferson stared at the name.  _Alexander Hamilton_. He had never heard it before Madison had casually mentioned him forty-six days ago. Apparently he had been abroad too long, because a quick search revealed that Hamilton had been steadily snatching parts away from shoo-ins, Jefferson’s friends and frenemies in the business, and possibly now Jefferson himself. This baffling _Julian Kaiser and Bruno_ show was a departure from his steady Tony-ward trajectory, but it had managed to boost him into name recognition in a way that his mainstream theater roles hadn’t.

He double clicked his home button and swiped the conversation away. Unconsciously taking another sip of his latte amid a fresh wave of burning pain, deliberately not overthinking his actions, he image-searched Alexander Hamilton. He scrolled through a series of professional studio-shots - posed, plastic, boring. Further down were some candids, and he paused on what looked like a video screengrab of Hamilton giddily explaining something to someone out of frame. He touched the thumbnail, enlarging it. Hamilton’s hair was longer than it was in his headshots, slicked back into a ponytail. His eyes sparkled with excitement, hands outstretched, emphasizing the words that were curling from his lips.  Jefferson wondered what Hamilton was so animated about.  He wondered if he had ever been that enthusiastic about anything.

“ _Salut!”_

Jefferson immediately closed the browser and re-opened his email, keeping his eyes trained carefully on his phone. Raising his cup again, he half-heartedly blew on the surface of the liquid. He glared unseeing at the screen, the belated attempt to cool the latte bringing to mind an image of firmly closing the barn door after the horse had bolted.


	2. Chapter 2

Alexander Hamilton met Aaron Burr the first day he arrived in New York, eight years ago this September.

Burr was starting the first year of his Theatre MFA program at Columbia when Alex arrived as an undergrad transfer student, feeling like the walking cliché of an immigrant in the big city. What was the _deal_ with these buildings being so tall? And why was it so _loud?_ The Columbia website highlighted Burr’s success in an accelerated program, poised to become the Next Big Thing in Theatre. The university communications department had painstakingly overwritten details of his tragic past, woven alongside his legacy within the institution.  _"_ _His father’s portrait hangs on the east wall of University Hall, shining in the early rays of the rising sun. Today, Aaron Burr rises from the legacy as the son of Columbia University’s sixteenth president, whose life was tragically cut short when--”_ The fact that Alex literally bumped into the glare of that son while angrily stomping out of the bursar’s office was impossible, yet felt inevitable.

 

_“Slow down!” The silky voice was commanding without raising in tone. It stopped Alex in his tracks, and he gaped at the owner._

_“Aaron Burr –- sir –-“ he stammered; mother of pearl he just met a real life celebrity. Welcome to New York. An_ Olsen twin _could be right around the corner._

_“Do I know you?”_

_Burr was looking at him warily, and Alex realized he was grinning like an idiot. He quickly arranged his face into something that felt more suitable for a meeting of mature Ivy League Arts students, but he may have overcorrected, because Burr now appeared frightened._

_“Oh, no! Sorry. I’m Alexander Hamilton? I read your profile on the university website and recognized you from your picture –- although you were smiling a bit more… My--” He stopped himself just before he blurted out that his parents were also dead. “Well, we have a lot in common –- anyway I’m just starting the theater program here. Acting!  Just like you! Uh, I chose that major before I read the thing on the website, I’ve been dreaming about it my whole life so it’s not like I’m trying to steal your identity or fashion a Burr skin suit or anything –- ha, just kidding… so, um, what method do you prefer? I know we’ll get a good background in all the classics but I was able to study Meisner for two years back in the Caribbean –- that’s where I’m from -– I never thought I would get the money together to make it to New York…”_

_He trailed off as he realized that Burr was holding himself very, very still. “I actually prefer Stanislavski. Meisner is fairly… derivative.”_

_Alex felt himself knocked slightly off of his Burr-shaped pedestal. “Well. I disagree. I mean I feel like they’re two sides of the same coin, but Meisner takes Stanislavski’s base idea and elevates-–“_

_“Stanislavski appreciates thoroughness," Burr interrupted, calmly. "Nuance. I take his advice in every part I embody: “When you play a good man, try to find out where he is bad, and when you play a villain–-“_

_“--Try to find where he is good, right.” Alex supplied the conclusion, frowning. It’s not that he didn’t appreciate nuance. He just connected with Meisner’s technique of getting out of his head; behaving instinctively to the surrounding environment. It was too noisy inside his head. He knew how to use his body to draw out the reactions he was looking for. He was good at that._

_Alex realized that the pause in their conversation had stretched out to the point of discomfort, and he opened his mouth to refuel his argument by referencing his past successes with Meisner’s method. Before he could get going, Burr’s expression smoothly transformed from from vague annoyance to demure charmer, a hundred thousand tuition dollars in action. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Hamilton. I’m sure our paths will cross again. In the meantime –- may I offer you some free advice?”_

 

********************

 

“Did I ever tell you the best advice Washington gave me?”

Thomas stifled a yawn. Jet lag was a bitch. He had quickly become overwhelmed at the activity inside the lobby of the _Benedict_ auditions, and used his most measured tone to direct Madison to find them the quietest place to wait for his turn. It was precisely like finding the shadiest spot on the sun. Madison had suggested the ticket booth; Thomas irately countered with Siberia, and they had settled on a corner near the concession stand. At the moment he was grateful to Newton’s third law of physics; even though he kept leaning a little bit more against this wall, it kept pushing back and keeping him upright. This was the best wall ever. He needed coffee. Ugh, they probably only had Starbucks on this block. He realized Madison had paused, expecting a response from him.

“No.”  _Nailed it_.

Madison sighed. “Man, I’m just trying to keep you awake, you don’t need to get cranky at me. I guess I should say, he didn’t actually give this advice to _me_ , it was more what he said when he was our commencement speaker at Columbia. But I never forgot it. He was telling us a story about how when he was an MFA candidate, he watched his classmates promise each other these long-term alliances, ‘whatever I’m working on, you’re there with me, man’ -- those weren’t his words -- but as soon as they got hired, they forgot all about those so-called friends to save their own asses.”

Thomas frowned. “Well, it’s not like you should jeopardize a job to make your friends happy, but that was a stupid thing to guarantee."

“That was his point. Remember your friends, and by all means use those connections to make the best show possible. But don’t make empty promises to cast a show that hasn’t even been written.”

“Mmm.” Thomas gazed forlornly at the empty coffee pot in the corner.

“And the second part,” Madison continued blithely, ignoring Thomas’ severe disinterest in this conversation, “was a warning to not get sucked into the politics of the theater world.”

“Every industry has politics.” 

“It does, but you know, he has experience with this one. And this was the year after he swept at the Tonys, so everyone either wanted a piece of him or wanted to tear him apart. But he managed to stay professionally civil with everyone after all these years -- even after Lee was giving interviews to _Playbill_ about how Washington didn’t know what the hell he was doing and he was just getting lucky. Ironic, coming from that dude.”

“Well, according to you, Lee did something right in _Julian Kaiser_  by casting Hamilton, right?” Thomas’ eyes had drifted shut, but he cracked one to peek over at Madison. He was looking back at him.

“I guess so. Like I said, lucky. But that just goes to prove Washington’s point again -- he’s about to poach Hamilton from _Kaiser,_  and Lee can’t say shit. Washington’s been nothing but neutral when he’s asked about Lee in interviews.”

Thomas didn’t want to talk about Lee, or Washington. He sighed. “So pray tell, how has all this exceptional advice helped you, James?”

Madison caught sight of something over Thomas’ shoulder. “I’ve kept my head down, just doing my thing. This show is it, man, and I’m a part of it. I can’t even believe it. And you know I’ve been doing everything in my power to get you on board. But there are some people I am so grateful I never promised an empty favor to right now.”

 

********************

 

Aaron stood at the door of the theatre lobby, surveying the familiar chaos of an open-call audition. Stretching bodies were scattered around the room; warm-up vocal exercises rose and fell through the din. He made his way through the crowd, smiling at him, embracing her, searching for one face in particular. He zeroed in on two men talking closely next to the shuttered concession stand.

“Mr. Jefferson! Welcome home.” Jefferson broke into a lazy smile and straightened up off the wall, grasping the hand he offered.

“Burr? I hardly recognized you. I haven’t seen you since…”

“Probably since _Dianetics: Real Science!_ , right?”

Jefferson nodded once. “Your Tony win, if I recall.”

Aaron shrugged modestly. “It was a strong team. We were sorry to see you move across the pond.” Jefferson’s expression didn’t change. Aaron turned to face Jefferson’s companion. “And if it isn’t costume designer to the stars, James Madison! I thought I heard Washington snatched you up from _Cake._ ”

Madison glanced sideways at Jefferson, his voice measured. “Yeah… lucky to be a part of this one. Since _Benedict_ takes place in the same time period, he thought we could make something work--”

“Absolutely. You’ll make me look fantastic as Arnold.” He winked, as Madison barked a short laugh. Jefferson was picking an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder and appeared not to have heard the comment. Aaron cleared his throat.

“Well gentlemen, we should all get a drink when things settle down. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Washington. He requested I meet with him before things get going today.”

Madison looked amused. “You got that email too? I thought it was just Hamilton.”

Aaron didn’t notice Jefferson stiffen, busy trying to hide his own surprise. “Hamilton’s here? I thought he was doing that goblin thing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s an open secret but he’s been angling for this for a while. I might not measure you for that red coat just yet.” Madison smiled serenely.

Aaron let out a good-natured chuckle, and did not say that he was bluffing about the message from Washington. Mind games were just a part of the open call, always keeping the competition on their toes. He didn’t know if Madison was playing the game right back, or if Washington had truly summoned Hamilton to his side. It didn’t matter. He made his way back through the crowd, pace measured, body language relaxed.  

Steadily moving through the crowd, looking for the world like a man on a mission, he was abruptly reminded of the second time he had met Alexander Hamilton.  

 

 _Hamilton had unexpectedly won the lead role in an undergrad production of Jesus Christ Superstar a few weeks after he started at Columbia. As TA for the first-year Acting I course, Aaron had required that his students attend opening night and write a paper detailing their observations of the methods they had studied thus far that semester. Nine of the ten students had focused on Hamilton’s performance._ Apparently it was a one-man show, _Aaron brooded as he skimmed over the sixth variation on “Meisner’s influence is clear in the “The Last Supper” supper confrontation, when Hamilton…”_

_By the time he had graded the last paper, Aaron decided to attend the show’s closing night. He knew the two Director and Stage-Management majors who were working on this show. Not that they had much of a relationship… they had never really warmed to each other. But he thought he could provide some constructive criticism, if nothing else. They were all working toward developing as artists._

_With the final notes ringing in his ears, on his feet with the rest of the audience, he conceded that Hamilton had brought something... unexpected to the show. His character was supposed to be emotional, conflicted, but the way he played out that dynamic in the micro-expressions in his face, reacting instinctively to Jesus’ tragic character arc with barely noticeable but increasingly despairing adjustments in his slight frame… He was_ not _the second coming, despite the musical’s subject matter, and Aaron would not modify the generous use of his red pen on his students’ papers. Still, it was one of the better undergrad shows he had seen in his time at the university. He thought it would be polite to congratulate Laurens and Lafayette on their success, and waited for a bit -- responded to some emails, reviewed his credit card statement -- before making his way to the bar that he knew was a popular spot for cast parties after wrap._

 _He spotted Lafayette first, carefully balancing three beers as he navigated to a table against the far wall. Aaron’s gaze followed his path through the crowd, settling on--_ o...kay… _\-- Hamilton curled around Laurens, engaged in an act that could only be described as_ nuzzling _. The table in front of them was littered with empty pint glasses, and Laurens unhooked one of his arms from Hamilton’s waist to clear some space as Lafayette reached the table. He was grinning up at his friend. Burr was still too far away to hear what Lafayette said, but it made Laurens laugh out loud and prompted Hamilton to give him the finger while burrowing deeper into Laurens’ neck._

_Aaron approached the table. Laurens quickly disentangled himself from Hamilton, flushing slightly. The unceremoniously dislodged Hamilton scowled back at him, then blinked a grin into focus as he caught sight of Aaron._

_“Aaron Burr! To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”_

_Lafayette was staring at him, nonplussed, and Laurens appeared poised to flee or faint. He recalled their last few encounters over the years, and his dismissiveness of their efforts in other productions. Well, everybody sucked as freshmen. Criticism was necessary in order to improve. He thought he had been diplomatic in his reviews, but judging by the looks on their faces, perhaps not. Aaron slowly began to count to ten in his head, and addressed his next statement to Laurens. This was starting to feel like a bad idea. “I came to say congratulations -- that was quite a show.”_

_Laurens gaped at him for a moment before he remembered himself. “You thought so? Uh...thanks. Thank you. We worked pretty hard on it. I think we had some of your former students in the cast, actually.”_

_Hamilton made an impressed face. “Well, then congrats to you, TA Burr. I wish I had the opportunity to benefit from your tutelage, but I transferred in those credits.”_

_Lafayette snorted and muttered something into his beer. Aaron was starting to realize he was not going to be easily forgiven for their past interactions. Besides, he didn’t know what he thought he could gain out of this -- he just wanted to express appreciation for a well-constructed piece of art. Clearly this was not the time or the place. “I should go.”_

_“No -- these guys should go.” Hamilton had shot a look at Lafayette. Laurens gasped, “What?” as Aaron hid his surprise. Lafayette rolled his eyes and grabbed Laurens’ arm, yanking him out of the booth. Aaron didn’t turn to see where they were going this time. Hamilton gestured to the now-vacated seat across from him._

_"So John did a good job directing his first show, hm?”_

_Against his better judgment, Aaron sat down. “He did. I probably would have recast Jesus -- his interpretation felt a little one-note -- but overall I think he did a fine job.”_

_Hamilton continued to watch him. “And Judas?”_

_Aaron could have sworn he sounded hesitant for the first time. Did Hamilton really care what he thought about him? Didn’t he know the effect he had on the audience? His earnest question led Aaron to respond in kind._

_"I came tonight because my students wrote of nothing_ but _Judas in their reflection papers. You know how to command a stage, Alexander. Laurens laid a solid foundation -- but that was all you tonight.”_

_Hamilton leaned forward suddenly, nearly knocking over his beer. "Burr, can I tell you something? I’ve been thinking about what you said, when we first met. I mean, just for the record I still think you’re mostly wrong -- but I tried it with Judas. Find out where the villain is good, right? Judas wasn’t trying to betray his best friend. He just knew he wasn’t God. He wanted to do what was right. If I connected with this character, well… I guess I partly owe that to you.”_

_Aaron didn’t know what to say. This whole night had knocked his equilibrium, and Hamilton’s scrutiny was too intense. He needed to go home. He made a show of checking his phone for the time, and stood up from the table. “Congrats again, Alexander. For the show, and...” He raised an eyebrow at the now-empty space next to Hamilton in the booth._

_Hamilton huffed a laugh, and shook his head slightly. “It’s all been fun, but the show’s over. Who knows what the future holds.” Aaron wasn’t convinced Laurens was on the same page, but it wasn’t his business anyway. Hamilton continued, “so, I got an invite to this sorority winter party thing next week -- you should come. Trust me, there’s nothing like a sister…hey.” He winked. Aaron tried not to smile. Hamilton’s romantic preferences seemed to span the spectrum._

_“Sorority parties aren't usually my scene, but...I’ll think about it.”_

 

He did end up going to the party. In fact, he let down his inhibitions in a way that he hadn’t before, or since. Probably for the best, since he couldn’t remember much from that night… After that, he didn’t see Hamilton for three years. He chose not to think about that last run-in though, particularly with Alexander’s confession still echoing in his memory.

Aaron blinked and realized he needed to call his own bluff, as he was suddenly accosted by a former classmate asking him if he had just been talking to Thomas Jefferson. He needed to find Washington. Expertly dodging the man’s follow-up questions, he kept moving, knowing this poor schmuck didn’t stand a chance with Jefferson in the room. It had been years since he’d seen Jefferson perform live, but he had been reading the reviews in _Time Out_ and the _Guardian._ He was a powerhouse, and the only one present that Aaron saw as competition.  

He walked back out into the unseasonably cold morning and headed for the stage door as his mind, unbidden, supplied the thought he tried to suppress. _No, he’s not._

 

********************

 

Alex hurried up the sidewalk, burying his face in the scarf he had hastily wrapped around his neck on his way out the door. Jesus, it was cold. He had meant to get to the audition early, but Lee of _course_ had called him just as he was walking out the door with a piece of toast wedged in his mouth, fumbling with his keys. He knew he did it on purpose. Lee had a professional -- if strained -- relationship with Washington. He knew what was happening today.  

By the time he had stopped arguing with the ridiculous change Lee wanted to make in Act IV that would simultaneously feel unnatural for the story _and_ be virtually unnoticeable to the audience, Alex realized that he was supposed to be meeting with Washington in twenty minutes. Shit. He all but hung up on his director, glanced around wildly for a coat and settled on grabbing a discarded scarf by the front door. He didn’t recognize it. It must have been John’s.

After a virtual sprint from his apartment, turning onto West 44th Street brought him to an abrupt halt. What could only be the line for _Benedict_ auditions was stretching halfway down the block. He laughed humorlessly, a wave of insecurity keeping him paralyzed. He didn’t even know why Washington wanted this meeting. For all he knew, Washington was about to scold him for his unprofessionalism in jumping ship on his friend’s show. He was so unprepared for this.

As his heart rate started to slow down, a shiver went through him. Alex always hated this time of year, with negative wind chills and slush-soaked shoes a daily certainty. For a brief moment, Alex imagined he was home. He pictured his mother laughing, toes buried in the sand.  Why did he think of that right now? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this moment. He _was_ prepared -- he had been reading everything on Arnold he could get his hands on.  He had been writing to Revolutionary War scholars and questioning their conclusions, he had gotten blocked from commenting on the _Smithsonian_ website for getting into a too-heated debate with the author of an article that he felt encompassed a particularly unjust interpretation of Arnold’s actions. He took a breath and started fighting his way through the crowd.  

“Alex?”

He plastered a grin on his face, masking his apprehension as he caught sight of the casting director. “Abby, hey. I’m supposed to be meeting with--”

“I know, George is expecting you. Come on, we can go in through the stage door.”  

 

********************

 

Aaron slipped in through the stage door as a woman was exiting. He gave her an assured nod, which prompted her to look at him askance, and they both paused for a beat. She seemed to mentally shrug and continued on toward the crowd in front of the theatre without speaking to him. He let out a breath and navigated his way through the wings, pausing at the door of the green room. It was ajar, the responding, “yes?” to his gentle knock echoing out into the hall.  He steeled himself, and entered the room.

“Mr. Washington - it’s an honor to meet you.”

Washington was seated, leaning on an elbow at a table set up against the far wall of the room. The sleeves of his half-zip cardigan were pushed up. Scattered notes, an iPad, headshots, and earmarked scripts were littered in front of him. He was looking up, eyebrows raised, but didn’t make any further motion. Burr decided to continue.

“I’ll only take a moment of your time, sir. My name is Aaron Burr. I was top of my class at Columbia University the year you gave our commencement address -- I was impressed with your insights into the politics of theatre. I originated the role of David in _Dianetics_ , and, well…” Burr saw Washington’s eyes drift down to the screen in front of him. He pushed on. “I’ve reviewed the script for _Benedict_ , and I have a couple of suggestions.” That got his attention.

“Do you?”

Aaron mentally high-fived himself, and took a breath to continue. He had barely opened his mouth when there was a knock behind him. Washington’s face lit up and he stood. “Hamilton! Come in. Have you met Burr...?”

 _No,_ Aaron thought, cursing his timing. He turned his head and met Hamilton’s gaze, fixed with an unreadable expression. His posture was defiant. His hair was longer than Aaron remembered -- his clothes fit him better. He seemed to be waiting for Aaron to make the first move, so he nodded.  

“Yes.  We’ve… met.”

********************

 

Washington blithely ignored the tension in the room and nodded for Alex to sit down at the table with him. “Burr?”

Burr glanced at the other empty chair at the table. “Yes, sir?”

“Would you mind closing that on your way out?” Washington gestured to the door. If Alex weren’t so gleeful at witnessing this unexpected humiliation, he might have felt sorry for him. But he really, really didn’t. Burr's voice in his memory came back, unbidden. _"I'm sorry...truly. I should go." The door closed behind him, softly_. The door to the green room closed firmly, bringing Alex back to the present.

“Thank you for coming early, Alexander. I know you have a busy schedule.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, pushing Burr out of this mind. “Not as busy as you, sir.”

“True.” Washington’s lip curled up. “But I was hoping to make yours a bit busier.”

Alex stared at him. Was this his audition? Should he pull out his headshot? Burst into song?

“Charles has made it very clear to me that you’re attached to _Julian Kaiser and Bruno_ for another month, and I know you’ve been auditioning for other productions. Nate Green offered you a job, isn’t that right?”

“I didn’t audition for that -- he wanted to revive _Twang!!_ , for some ungodly reason… the world doesn’t need to see Robin Hood as a burlesque dancer," Alex said, wide-eyed. "Or at least, they’re never going to see me do it.”

Washington nodded gravely. “Glad to hear it. So you’re unattached when your contract ends.”

“Yes.” He pushed down a familiar flash of guilt. Not necessarily unattached in all senses of the word -- but he would be. Fully. Ready to start fresh.

“Good.” Washington tapped a script in front of him. “I wouldn’t say this to too many people, but your reputation precedes you, Alexander. The complexities of this show are starting to bury me. I’m pulling together my team, but I need all the help I can get--”

“I know people that can help.” Alex blurted out without thinking. “John Laurens is the best stage manager working right now -- between him and Gil Lafayette… you won’t regret working with them. John has been talking about creating a show centered around actors of color for years and you’re, well. I heard that’s what you’re doing with _Benedict_.” Is this why Washington summoned him here? To get his opinion on what crew he should hire? And wait a minute _what did he just do?_

“Laurens, hm?  He was on my short list… well, this certainly isn’t going to help my relationship with Charles. Would you mind speaking to Laurens for me, see if he would be willing to make the transition? I don’t want to create waves if he’s happy where he is.”

 _Fuuuu…_ That was not the next conversation he intended to have with John, but he couldn’t focus on that problem right now. Anxiety was creeping back in, and he needed to lock this down. “So what about the rest of your team?”

Washington appraised him. “What do you think?”

“I think you need me to play Arnold.” He paused, unsure if telling the General himself who he should cast was the right move, but he decided to soldier on.

“You didn’t call me here to yell at me about being a dick -- sorry, jerk -- to Lee or ask me about production staff. I’ve studied everything there is to know about Arnold, I’ve been working toward this for so long--” He cut himself off as emotion threatened the logical list of reasons why Washington should choose him.  

Washington smiled. “You’re right. I want to see you test out the material with some other actors, but I’m not going to play games. I need you to do what you do best, and lead this cast. If all goes well… it’s just about time to hand in your notice to the goblin wrangler.”

Alex was speechless for the first time in his life. Was this actually happening? “...Thank you sir. You won’t regret -- who did you want to test me against?”  

“I have someone in mind for John André, but I’ll want to see your chemistry on stage."  

_Is that why Burr was there?_

Washington said, "Have you met Thomas Jefferson?”

He expected to feel relief that it wasn’t Burr, but instead, his breath caught in his throat. A long-suppressed memory of a Cheshire grin and a smooth baritone flitted to the surface before he pushed it back down.

“He’s been working in London for several years, but he was a breakout success in _Dianetics_ before he left,” Washington continued. “I heard from several people that there was some behind-the scenes wrangling from Actor’s Equity to discount Jefferson’s nomination that year -- rumors were that Aaron Burr had done some campaigning.”

Alex bit his lip, a flash of unexpected anger rising in him. He had seen the show, but he hadn’t spoken to Burr -- _or John --_ for years after that hazy closing night of _Superstar_. Still, it wouldn’t surprise him if the rumors were true. At least, not knowing what he knows now.

Washington continued, oblivious to Alex's agita. “He left shortly after and hasn’t been back to New York -- but I’ve had him in mind for this show ever since I saw the first draft.”

“By all means, let me at him,” Alex blurted out, hoping Washington wouldn’t notice the sudden flush of his cheeks.

Washington chuckled. “I appreciate the enthusiasm. However, my costume designer tells me he’s fresh off a red eye from London, so I think I’m going to have him warm up today and call you back tomorrow when you’re both a little more prepared. If that’s okay with you?”

Alex told himself he was disappointed only because he wouldn’t get a chance to prove his worth to Washington immediately. He stepped back into the bitter cold, pausing as he glanced north. Right now, a man with a full, curly head of hair and liquid brown eyes was a block away, instead of an ocean away, for the first time in seven years. He could wait one more day. He deliberately turned and walked south _._

 

********************

 

John was engrossed in his phone in the third row of the empty theater, scrolling through matinee movie options.  He had come to work early to see if he could keep himself busy, knowing that everything was already taken care of. It was a relief when Lafayette had texted to see if he was around. Laf knew that he needed a distraction while Hamilton auditioned, and John was equal parts grateful and annoyed. He was a grown man. He had interests other than--  
  
"Alex?” John looked up, startled, as the door to auditorium slammed shut.

“Hey, John.”  

 _What was he doing here?_  “It’s still early… is the audition over?”

“Sort of.” He made his way over to where John was sitting. He didn’t look happy.

“Shit, you got cut already?" John shook his head. "Washington doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, turns out Lee was right after--”

“No, it’s… that’s not actually why I’m here. Well, partly, but first I think we should talk.”

The air was sucked out of the room. There was no other phrase in existence that more clearly expressed its meaning while simultaneously negating the words contained within. Just by saying it, there was no longer any need for discussion.

“Okay.”

Hamilton was standing in the row in front of him, facing the back of the house. The position forced John to look up at him. “John… I care about you a lot.”

“Got it. We can skip to the end here. It’s been fun, right?”

He could tell Hamilton was trying not to appear frustrated, but fuck him. John had a right to be upset about this, and so he let loose with what he never had the nerve to say before. “Hey, at least I didn’t find out it was over this time by hearing about how you were suddenly banging some sorority chick, so thanks for the courtesy--”

“ _What_ _?"_ Hamilton gaped at him. "That’s... not what happened.”

“If you say so.” John bit his lip and looked back down at his phone. Hamilton didn’t move.

“Was there something else you needed, Alexander?” He didn’t want to think about the last time he said those words to him.

Hamilton paused, seemingly weighing his options. “Actually, there is. And I know I’m doing this all wrong, but I didn’t want you to think -- anyway, Washington has all but offered me Benedict.”

John raised his eyes to him. “Congratulations. I’ll put in an order for a cake with the traitor’s face on it.”

Hamilton sighed. “Oh, for… my point is that Washington needs the best crew on this show, and you were the first person I thought of. You and Lafayette have changed the game. Think of what the three of us have accomplished… from _Superstar_ , to…” he gestured around the theater. “It’s all been leading to this moment. Washington wants you. So? What do you say?”

John stood up so that he was eye level with Hamilton. His head was spinning. “Are you fucking kidding me, Alexander? You dump me and then immediately offer me my dream job?”

Hamilton raked his hand through his hair. “I thought it was better than the other way around,” he muttered.

“I gotta go.”

“John…”

“What?”  

Hamilton just stood there. John realized he wasn’t going to continue, he just thought he should say something as a closing line. He stormed out of the theater, a hysterical laugh escaping him.  _Fucking actors._


	3. Chapter 3

Angelica woke up early. Unplugging her phone from the charger, she quietly eased out of bed. Her husband was still snoring softly. She padded down the hall into the kitchen, and started the coffee. Finally, she pressed a few buttons and held the phone to her ear.

_"Allo?”_

She smiled. “ _Salut, l’ami._ How’s the best city in the world?”

She heard a shuffling and a muffled voice as he told someone he’d be back. “Well I’m not in Paris, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Ass. How long til your audition?”

“How long does it take for water to freeze in hell again?”  

Angelica laughed, then covered her mouth, glancing toward the bedroom. “Physics isn’t really my area. Neither is acting, actually, so I have no idea how long you should be waiting before you should worry.”

“Well, either way it’s good to hear from you. Madison is glad you called too; I think I’m testing the limits of his patience... There are about a thousand people here so it’s a little overwhelming.”

“Doesn’t matter. No one has what you have.”

He paused. “What do I have?”

“That… indescribable thing. You just have it. You’re going to get what you want.” Angelica stared at the dripping black liquid, her hand clutching the waiting mug.

There was a longer pause this time. “I don’t know about that. James has been telling me that Washington has someone else in his pocket. I’ve never seen him in action, but…”

“Please. Washington may think he knows what he wants but he hasn’t seen you yet.” She bit her lip and hurried on. “Madison probably doesn’t have all the facts.”

"He saw him in his current show and said he’s the only bit worth seeing… actually, he went to the same university as Hamilton, although I don’t think they knew each other --”

“What did you say?” Angelica froze, mid-pour, as coffee threatened to slosh over the rim.

“Which part?”

“Did you say Hamilton? _Alexander_ Hamilton?”  
  
She wished she could see his face. His voice sounded odd. “Yes?”

“Thomas. We all went to the same university, and that miserable vomitous mass broke my sister’s heart. You need to ruin him.”

“ _What?_... Wait, do you even have a sister?”

“Okay, not technically, but Eliza Schuyler was my little sister in our sorority. I’ve known her my whole life; we grew up down the street from each other. She met Alex her junior year, when I was a senior.” Angelica paused, the memory flooding back. She gripped the handle of her mug more tightly.

“They dated for a few years, thought they were going to get married, the whole thing. You should have heard all the perfect things he said to her… I could tell he was a smooth talker, and I tried to warn her to be careful, but she was so in love. She didn’t believe he would ever cheat on her, even after... He tried to get her back, but she just couldn’t get over it.”

“Even after what?”  

Angelica ignored the question. “I know it was a long time ago, but... she’s my sister. You never truly get over your first heartbreak, you know? I could tell it changed her. And there’s Alexander, just floating through life, destroying whoever’s in his path to get whatever he wants. He deserves to suffer for what he did. Make his life hell.”

Angelica heard her husband stir from down the hall. “I gotta go. Text me later and tell me everything.” She hung up before he could respond, and deliberately set down her mug. She felt edgy from the conversation. Smoothing her hair, she retraced her steps to the bedroom, unfastening her robe as she went.

“Angie?  Everything okay?”

She climbed back into bed. “Everything’s fine. I was just giving Thomas a pep talk.” She didn’t want to talk about Hamilton.

He took her hand and rubbed a thumb lightly along the back of it. “Hey. I know it’s been hard for you, being here. And now your best friend might be leaving. I hope you know how much I appreciate you, Ang… I wish there was something I could do to make it easier for you.”

Angelica felt tears start to threaten, and she kissed her husband. She had been so lonely. He released her hand in order to pull her in closer to him. The kiss deepened, her legs entwined with his, and she felt herself responding for the first time in months. She adjusted until she was straddling him. She began to move her hips, desperate to feel something. She hadn’t felt wanted in so long. His hands drifted up, grazing her breasts, lightly grasping the sides of her face until he pulled her down to kiss him again.  

“John…”

He entered her in one thrust, and they both gasped. She trained her mind on the sensation, on what she needed in this moment, blocking everything else out. His hand drifted down as he could feel her getting close, and she tensed, collapsing on him for a few breaths. She started to regain the rhythm, but he held her still, smiling at her. “Take your time.” She lay down on his chest, inhaling and exhaling, listening to his heartbeat. It felt a little bit like goodbye.

 

 ********************

 

Thomas lay in his hotel bed, listening to the sounds of New York traffic leaking in through the windows. He felt more human after a decent night’s sleep. Damn near chipper. It also helped that today was the day he was going to meet the other frontrunner for the show. He thrived on competition. Washington had asked to speak with him after he had delivered his monologue and song the day before, and requested he come back to play the scene where André and Arnold negotiate the sale of West Point. He assumed it would be with Burr. It would be interesting to be back on stage with him after all these years.

He flung the covers off the bed and padded over to the shower. He went through the motions of starting his day, pulling on the jeans that fit him like a second skin, and finishing the look with a deep blue, crewneck sweater. Sparing a glance at himself in the defogging bathroom mirror, he was satisfied with the reflection. _Time to go to work._

The empty theater lobby stood in stark contrast to the mayhem of the day before. The silence was deafening. He adjusted his shoulder bag and pulled open the door to the auditorium.  

Washington was there, as expected. He recognized the the casting director, and a few other people that he had met the day before were scattered around, chatting. Burr wasn’t in the room. The one person he had not expected to see -- crouching on the edge of the stage, deep in conversation with Washington -- was Alexander Hamilton.

Hamilton glanced up and locked eyes with him. Neither of them moved for a beat. Then Washington followed Hamilton’s gaze and broke into a smile. “Thomas!  Come in. We were just discussing the plan for today.”

Thomas forced himself to move forward, as Hamilton lightly jumped down from the stage to join Washington on the floor. “Alexander, this is Thomas.”

“Mr. Jefferson.” Hamilton unknowingly echoed Burr’s greeting from the day before, and extended his hand. His pictures hadn’t done him justice. His face seemed to betray a hundred thoughts at once, expressions sliding through too quickly for Thomas to get a handle on them. It unnerved him. In contrast, Thomas had been told enough times in his life that his resting appearance was still, nearly inanimate, betraying nothing at all. Thomas had learned to use his smile as a weapon, knowing the effect it could have. He deployed it now. He needed to get the upper hand.

Hamilton’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Jackpot. “Good to meet you.” Hamilton’s grip was firm, warm. He was taller than he had expected.

“Well, I think we should dive right in.” Washington’s voice interrupted Thomas’ thoughts and he dropped Hamilton’s hand.  

Thomas was still getting his footing on what was happening today. He hadn’t seen Hamilton at the audition yesterday, so it was possible he already had the part, and this was just Thomas’ callback. “So Burr won’t be joining us?”

Hamilton stilled, and swallowed hard as he waited for Washington’s response. _Interesting._   

“No, today I would just like to see the two of you together. Alexander, you’ll be taking Arnold’s part, and Thomas, I’d like to see you as André.”

Thomas had guessed as much based on yesterday’s audition, and he had spent the evening memorizing André’s lines. He was a compelling character. Even though he fought for the British -- and was therefore considered the enemy from winning side of American history -- he had followed his principles to the gallows with honor.  

He climbed the stage, training his mind to settle into the character, trying to block out Hamilton’s presence. He thought back to his early years in London. Centuries after the revolution, with the world shrinking and cultures bleeding into each other, it was still clear how the British tradition and social stratification could have clashed so strongly against American individualism and opportunity for upward mobility. He could imagine how much defined the distinction would have been in the eighteenth century. He could also appreciate the reality of navigating those difficulties as a stranger in a strange land, while working toward your ultimate goal.

Landing the part in _Dianetics_ had felt like a huge leap forward in his career, but ultimately the politics of theatre in New York had started to drown him. Federal policy changes had drastically cut arts funding over the last few decades, which of course disproportionately affected minority and disadvantaged communities. The roles available to him felt few and far between, and he was disillusioned by the greed that seemed to drive the business forward. Washington now seemed to be the exception to the rule. The two shows he had debuted in Thomas’ absence had both been diverse in their characters and funded independently, and he had capped ticket prices to ensure his shows were accessible to everyone.  _Benedict_ was the result of those earlier experiments, and the epitome of what Thomas believed theater should be.

"'If your great umbrage would care to meet my high dudgeon at 12 paces, I would be happy to entertain you at dawn.'"

Thomas whipped his head around to face Hamilton. “What did you just say?”

“Just something Arnold said.” Hamilton was almost smiling. “Twelve paces apart… sounds about right to start the scene, no?”

Thomas slowly nodded, and moved upstage. Turning his back on Hamilton made it easier to focus. He was toying with him -- he had thrown down the gauntlet, and Thomas needed to retaliate. From what Angelica told him about Hamilton, he fit the part of Benedict Arnold perfectly. Thomas now needed to draw out the pieces of himself that fit his own character. André lived with honor and sacrificed everything -- up to and including his life -- for his beliefs. Thomas couldn’t understand Arnold, and he could use that frustration in the negotiation scene. How could you justify the actions of someone who would betray the people closest to him and toss away his principles for a paycheck?

“All right… let’s take it from André’s arrival at Stony Point.”

Hamilton was already in position. The negotiation for the sale of West Point was the first time Arnold and André meet face to face, after telling parallel stories throughout the show. The staging and score and other details not yet worked out, Thomas assumed they would just have to wing it and hope that it impressed Washington enough to give them another shot.  

He summoned the trepidation and bravado required to begin this climactic scene, and he could see Hamilton respond in kind. He delivered the first line, Hamilton fired back, and Thomas, momentarily rattled, took a sharp breath before continuing. He began to lose himself in the moment. They had started in opposite corners, but moved ever closer, circling each other, a bit of a dance. Hamilton had drawn himself upright, defensive, hurling his lines like rocks, and didn’t take his eyes off Thomas as they finally came within a breath of each other. He was in awe of Hamilton’s physicality, the way the words moved through him and how he adjusted with every step or every look Thomas made. He wanted to see how far he could go. He was having trouble remembering Angelica’s warning.

Arnold had the last line of the scene, a word of caution when traveling through enemy territory. Hamilton stilled, delivering the words in a murmur, eyes searching Thomas’ in a hooded gaze. A silence fell over the room.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Thomas started, and tore his gaze away from Hamilton’s face to smile graciously at Washington.

“You’ll hear the official word through your agents soon, but I think everyone here can agree that we’ve found our Arnold and André -- if you accept, of course. I’m scheduling callbacks for a few other parts, but we should be ready to begin rehearsals within a few weeks.”

Hamilton’s smile brightened, and he made a movement toward Thomas, but visibly stopped himself. Thomas wasn’t usually a hugger, but he almost physically felt the absence of the aborted embrace. _What was wrong with him?_ He crossed his arms instead.

Washington was continuing.  “More good news is, we’ve found our Peggy Shippen Arnold. She blew us away yesterday and I don’t see the need to continue searching. Her name is Elizabeth Schuyler, she’s an emerging--”

“ _What?”_ The joy had drained from Hamilton’s expression, but it took Thomas a beat to place the name. _Schuyler..._

“Everything okay, Alexander?”

“Yes -- yes sir. I know Eliza… we haven’t seen each other in years, so we’re not… but yes, I’m sure she did make an impression.” Washington nodded, appeased, and turned to his casting director to compare notes.

Hamilton let out a breath and glanced nervously back at Thomas, his Arnold persona tucked away somewhere. “Well, that was something. Glad we got the chance to--”

“Angelica says hi.” Thomas cut him off before he realized what he was saying. He was feeling off-balance from the intensity of Hamilton’s presence, and his own unexpected reaction to it. He needed to control the conversation.

Hamilton paused, pieces falling into place. “I doubt that.” Thomas was glad he didn’t pretend not to recognize the name. “...How is she?”  

Thomas stared back at him, on edge, Angelica’s directive ringing in his memory. “Don’t worry about it. That’s what you do, right? Float through life, not worrying about anything?”

Hamilton looked almost horrified, but anger was flaring up as well. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

He swallowed, trying to summon the satisfaction he always felt when he could attack with his words, beating down the enemy.  Hamilton was the enemy, right?  Angelica said he was a manipulative cheater, Burr had looked flustered when Madison mentioned his name… right, Burr’s name had unnerved him, too. Time to strike the final blow. “So I guess I’ll need to get used to seeing you around.  I was hoping Burr would be Arnold, but we can’t always get what we want.”

Hamilton stood frozen on stage, as Thomas turned his back on him to say his goodbyes to the director and assembled crew. Adrenaline from the audition drained from his system as he made his way back to his hotel.  That must be why he was shaking.

 

********************

 

Aaron gripped the edge of his desk, his phone blinking into sleep mode. His agent had just called to break the news that he had been cast as a minor role and Hamilton’s understudy. His _understudy._ Jefferson was André, and _Eliza Schuyler_ of all people was going to be the third corner of their love triangle as Arnold’s wife. He would laugh if he wasn’t so dumbfounded at the turn of events. Once rehearsals began, this would be the first time that the three of them would be together since that day… nearly three years ago now.

 

 _Aaron had been in a bit of a dry spell, professionally speaking, since he left_ Dianetics _. He had secured small roles here and there, but he had expected that the role would be his launching pad to continued Broadway successes. Adding to his frustration was that time and time again, roles he was sure were his kept getting offered to Hamilton instead. Hamilton was good, but not_ that _good. Aaron slowly became convinced that Hamilton’s girlfriend’s family connections were influencing casting decisions. The Schuylers were well-established Manhattan elite, and had recently established a successful charitable foundation that helped subsidize theater arts programs throughout the city. Hamilton’s proximity to the family must have been boosting him further along his career path than he deserved._

_After a few years, Hamilton had secured the lead in an independent play that was directed by one of Aaron’s former classmates, a role that had been all but promised to him. Aaron knew that the Schuyler foundation had partially funded the production. That was the last straw. He sat patiently in a coffee shop across the street from the theater, waiting for Hamilton to come out of rehearsals. When he emerged, Aaron stood up and started walking toward him, pretending to type on his phone._

_“Burr?”_

_Aaron feigned surprise, squinting at him. “Alexander?”_

_Hamilton grinned back, drawing him into a hug. “Good to see you. It’s been years! I watched your speech when you won the Tony -- you could probably hear me cheering for you from my living room.”_

_Aaron swallowed his misgivings, summoning the righteous rage that brought him to this moment. “Well, from what I hear you’ll be accepting your own soon enough.”_

_Hamilton shrugged off the compliment. “I try not to worry about that. I’m just happy to be working, you know? What are you up to these days?”_

_“Actually, it’s fortunate I ran into you. I could use your help.”_

_Hamilton looked surprised. “Really?”_

_“Yeah… this is a little awkward, but I was just remembering your relationship with Laurens, back at Columbia.” Hamilton’s surprise faded into discomfort._

_“Okay?”_

_Aaron pressed on. “I know you’re with Eliza now, but you’ve had… experience, with men, right?”_

_Hamilton clearly was not expecting the trajectory of this conversation, and Aaron wanted to make sure he didn’t flee before he got to the point. “I’m auditioning for a role that requires a love scene, um, with another man.  I was going to wing it, but I thought… maybe I could draw on your expertise so it wouldn’t be so obvious that it was my first time in that situation when I’m in front of an audience.”_

_Hamilton sucked in a breath. “You want to…”_

_“No, not anything too… I just thought if I could get some practice with the kiss… sorry, this is ridiculous. I’m an actor, I know how to fake it. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It was good to see you -- take care, Alexander.”_

_He shook his head and started to walk away, stopping on cue when he heard, “Burr, wait!”_

_They went back to Hamilton’s apartment. Aaron looked around as Hamilton disappeared to the kitchen to get them both a beer. The place was tastefully decorated, the furniture more expensive than he was used to seeing in a working actor’s living room. No doubt that everything in here was Eliza’s._

_Hamilton stepped into the room, handed him the beer and knocked his bottle lightly against it. “Cheers.” He seemed nervous, shifting around, unsure of what to do with his other hand. Aaron didn’t drink._

_“Well…?” Hamilton raised an eyebrow at him._

_Aaron put down the bottle on the coffee table and rubbed his hands together. “Right.  Shall we sit down?”_

_Hamilton nodded, taking another long swig of his beer, and moved to the couch. Aaron settled beside him. He placed his hands on his knees, feigning uncertainty. Hamilton turned toward him._

_“So, I’m sure you understand the mechanics…”_

_Aaron chuckled. “Yes, I’m not expecting anything drastically different than what I’m used to. But you know, preparation is key…”_

_Hamilton had lifted one hand, lightly brushing his knuckles against Aaron’s cheek. Aaron froze as he leaned in, and he could feel Hamilton smile as his lips touched the corner of his mouth. “Relax. I won’t bite. Unless the script calls for it.”_

_Aaron laughed, and Hamilton captured his mouth with his own. He seemed to have figured out what do with his hands, as they moved to either side of Aaron’s face to gently pull him deeper into the kiss. With the exception of the stubble rubbing against his chin, kissing Hamilton was a fairly enjoyable experience. Hamilton knew what he was doing. He almost forgot why he was here._

_He broke away, laughing, looking down bashfully. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m glad some poor actor out there didn’t have to deal with my ineptitude.”_

_Hamilton leaned back, grinning. “Don’t sell yourself short. That was great.”_

_Aaron met his eyes. “Really?” Hamilton swallowed._

_"Yeah, I mean, I don’t think my knowledge in this area is all that special, but I’ve never forgotten how you helped me out once, so I’m glad to return the fav--”_

_Aaron leaned forward again and sucked Hamilton’s bottom lip into his mouth, prompting a hum of surprise. Aaron continued his advance. He moved until he was half on top of Hamilton, and could feel Hamilton’s warring desire to be a good scene partner with the need to stop this before it crossed a line. Aaron felt some doubts of his own creeping in. Maybe this_ was _going too far. He paused, his lips pressed just under Hamilton’s jaw when he heard him mutter, “Hey, Burr--”_

_The front door opened. A woman stood there, frozen at the tableau in front of her. Hamilton quickly pushed Aaron off of him and stood up. “Eliza--”_

_“What the fuck is going on?” Her voice was steady._

_“Eliza, no -- it isn’t -- do you remember Aaron Burr?”_

_“I don’t need_ introductions _, Alexander.”_

_“No, you don’t understand. He’s an actor, he went to Columbia with us -- he needed a scene partner for an upcoming… tell her, Burr!” He whipped around to face him, hair in disarray, hands spread, pleading._

_Aaron looked past Hamilton’s agitation to his perfect apartment, with his perfect woman; the perfect fake life. He didn’t earn any of this.  He deserved what he got._

_“I’m sorry...truly. I should go.”  He looked chagrined, and Eliza’s face crumpled._

_“Burr...” Hamilton was staring at him in disbelief._

_“It was good to see you, Alexander.” He sympathetically nodded to Eliza on his way out the door._

 

It was the last time he had laid eyes on Alexander Hamilton until yesterday morning, when he was handed yet another role he didn’t deserve.

Aaron picked up his phone off the desk, and carefully composed a text to Madison. The reply contained the information he had requested, and he saved Jefferson’s number as a contact. He began a new message.

 

Burr: Jefferson, it’s Burr. Congratulations on André. We need to talk.

Burr: It’s about Hamilton.

 

He stared into the middle distance, seeing nothing, until his phone dinged.

Jefferson: Name the time and place.


	4. Chapter 4

The day had started out so well. Alex arrived early to speak to Washington, selectively passing along the message that John had used the words ‘dream job’ to refer to _Benedict_ while editing out the other ninety-eight percent of the conversation. He was tactfully suggesting that maybe Washington could call John directly to move things along, when the rear door of the auditorium opened and Thomas Jefferson appeared. Even from that distance, he recognized him instantly.

 

_In his last year of college, Alex had scraped the money together to purchase a ticket for Dianetics because Burr had top billing. He was excellent, as usual -- but by intermission, he truly believed the show belonged to Jefferson. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him. After the final curtain call, he sat for a few moments while the audience slowly dispersed. He unsilenced his phone to send Burr a message, thinking he might be able to secure an invite backstage.  It would be nice to catch up. Besides, if he could get a chance to chat with some of the cast members of an actual Broadway show, maybe he could get some guidance for his own career. Networking was important. His thumb hovered over the ‘send’ button when an incoming message chimed._

_Eliza: Hey - I skipped my last class, feel terrible, going to bed. Could you stop and get me some Nyquil on your way home? Hope you enjoyed the show xo_

_He steadily deleted his own message and started for home, an unidentifiable feeling churning in his gut. Maybe he was coming down with something too. He never told anyone that he had stopped by the theater again a few weeks later and discovered Jefferson had vanished. He never sent the message to Burr. Networking was overrated._

 

The feeling he had that night, seven years dormant, came back with a vengeance as he locked eyes with Jefferson. He might have stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. At least Washington seemed to able to breathe with Jefferson in the room. That was good. Somebody should.

He felt time slow to a stop as he and Jefferson took their places on stage. He wrung Arnold’s desperation through the timbre of his voice, the tension in his shoulders, the defiance in his pacing. He waxed and waned in response to Jefferson’s muted, sensual André. He felt like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment. He realized how electric they were together, and it felt inevitable. Then time once again snapped back into focus like a rubber band with Eliza’s name.

Now he stood alone on the stage. As pissed off as he was, a little voice inside him told him that Jefferson was right. No matter what Alex did, he just kept hurting people. He would always lose the people he cared about, who cared about _him_ , through his own stupid actions. It was better that Jefferson didn’t… well. He could close that door and lock it now. It was better that he was alone. He got the role he had always wanted… That could be enough.

 

*********************

 

Thomas absently swirled the remaining wine in his glass -- he had made his way through most of a bottle -- and gave the bartender the nod to fill it up again. He was going to drink until he couldn’t feel feelings. An instant after he had agreed to meet Burr, he began to regret it. _Just like how his Tinder dates must feel_. He snickered into his empty glass. He should probably eat something.

Two glasses in, he started replaying the conversation with Hamilton in his head, and it was making him increasingly despondent. Hamilton had been nothing but professional, and Thomas had been a monumental dick in response. He made up his mind to apologize the next time they met. It was the appropriate thing to do. He didn’t know what issue Burr had with him, but he wasn’t going to gang up on him to further someone else’s vendetta again. Angelica would understand.

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Hello! Thomas. Burr.” He corrected himself.  

Burr eyed him and ordered a cider before settling on the stool next to him. “Seems you got started without me. I appreciate your agreeing to meet --”

“Burr, let me just go ahead and stop you before the mustache-twirling really gets going. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in New York. I don’t particularly like it here. I’m not partial to the wafting aroma of garbage, and I will never understand why people can’t stand on the right side of the escalator in the subway.  _It’s not that hard, Burr_.”

Burr looked bewildered. “I don’t --”

“But I _do_ expect that I will like this job, and that will help me like living here. I don’t want to make it harder by creating enemies, particularly if they’re not even mine to begin with.”

Burr took a moment after Jefferson finished speaking, sipping his cider. “I wasn’t going to ask that you make enemies of anyone. As a matter of fact, I like Hamilton.”

Jefferson tossed his most withering stare in Burr’s direction, which may or may not have landed. “Of course you do.”

“I do.  It’s just… complicated.”

“So enlighten me. What’s complicated about it?”

Burr sighed. “Alexander developed a habit of using his girlfriend’s family connections to win jobs, and then she unfortunately caught him cheating on her. He... blamed me.”

“Angelica said--”  Jefferson scrunched his face up. “Why would he blame you for that?”  

“It doesn’t matter.  I only wanted to ask you tonight if you thought it was odd that he was basically offered this part without auditioning.”

Jefferson was starting to lose the thread of this conversation. “I didn’t really consider it. Washington seemed to have most of the roles filled by the time we got there. He knows what he wants, and he wants Hamilton.”

“Of course he does.”

_So do I._

“...What did you say?”

_Merde. Had he said that out loud?_

“What? Nothing.”

There was a pause, and Jefferson hurried on.

“Look. Angelica told me that something happened with Hamilton and Eliza, and I agreed to be horrible to him, which I did because she’s my friend, but -- and I want to make this clear -- _you_ are not my friend, Burr. I don’t know why you think there’s a casting conspiracy, and I certainly don’t know why he blames you for his relationship failing, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a hand in it. I know you.”

Jefferson met Burr’s eyes directly this time, knowing that he could leave it at that. He had never confronted Burr about the _Dianetics_ Tony campaigning, although he knew what had happened at the time. It was just an awards show, wrapped up in memories he had tried too hard to forget. But this was starting to feel too personal, and he had a job to do.  

Burr pivoted smoothly to declare how much he was looking forward to working with him again, how inspiring Washington was, and other words that Jefferson let float away as he found the bottom of his wine glass again. He signaled the bartender for his tab, and shortly thereafter emerged from the bar into the brisk, late autumn air. This was a fresh start. He was going to take it.

 

**************************

 

Angelica surfaced from the line of exhausted passengers that were shuffling out from customs at the arrivals gate at JFK. She had dutifully reported her length of time out of the country, declared her suitcase full of chocolate and _Dr. Who_ memorabilia, collected her baggage, and was now nearly giddy as she caught sight of the face she missed like endless summer days of childhood.

“Angelica!”

_“Eliza!”_

They grabbed each other in a tight hug, and Angelica nearly burst into tears.  _Home._ This is what it felt like.  

Eliza grabbed the handle of one of her bags and started toward the parking garage. “Are we talking about why you’re here, or how long you’re staying…?”

“Nope.”  Angelica knew that Eliza would follow her lead on this, that she would talk about it when she was ready. “Hey, thanks for picking me up.” She pulled two Cadburys out of her purse and handed one to Eliza. They tapped the bars together in cheers, and unwrapped them as they continued walking. “Oh my god, I didn’t even tell you about the milk…”

“No, you did, a couple of times. Anyway I was going to tell you this yesterday but then you said you were coming home so I figured I’d wait to say it in person… I got the most amazing job.” She was glowing.

“You did? I’m waiting…”

“So. I’ll be playing Peggy Shippen Arnold. She had a pretty fascinating role in the whole story… this show is sort of asking the question if she masterminded the whole Benedict Arnold betrayal, but that isn’t really revealed until the end. The director has created the most breathtaking productions I’ve seen in recent years; I can’t wait to see what he’s going to do with this one.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Right? We’ve already had a meeting and he gave me a little bit of insight into the character, but we’ll have the table read in a few weeks. He said they would be done casting by then. He literally just called as I was on my way to the airport to offer me the job.”

Eliza’s enthusiasm was carefully contained. Angelica couldn’t tell if it was for her benefit -- after all, it wasn’t a good sign for her marriage that she was suddenly in New York with no return ticket booked -- or if this was just who Eliza was now. They had been entwined in each other’s lives for so long that she sometimes forgot this fully grown woman simultaneously was, and was not, the same little girl that would burst into tears if Angelica insisted on playing with the the ‘pretty’ Barbie. She was the same ten year old that had convinced Angelica to take shots of Listerine in tiny bathroom paper cups because the label said it contained alcohol, and howled with laughter until she gave herself hiccups. She was the same college freshman that, in all sincerity, had pledged Angelica’s sorority so that they could officially be sisters for life. And she was the same woman that fell in love with the wrong guy, and ended up back on Angelica’s couch, watching reruns of X-Files as she picked up the pieces of her life and figured out how to put them back together again. And now Eliza’s dreams were coming true, and Angelica wanted to whoop out loud for joy.

Instead, Angelica deliberately matched her calm, collected voice as she swallowed a bite of chocolate. “Work. I’m not surprised, because of course you rocked it. I’ll be there front row center, opening night.”

Eliza tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and allowed herself a small grin. “I’ll hold you to that. Also,” she continued, her tone casual, “I was talking to a friend who works at the Met, and she was saying they could use some help in the development office. In case you want to kill time and make some cash while you’re staying here, that is.”

Angelica knew that Eliza had probably spent the better part of yesterday reaching out to everyone in her contact list until she found someone who could help her. She also knew better than to make the subtext text. She nodded, gave a quick thanks, and Eliza unlocked her car as they approached. They managed to squeeze Angelica’s luggage into the compact.  

“So, should we go home and read lines? Who’s going to play Benedict Arnold, by the way?”

 

*********************

 

It was the day of the table read. Alex retraced his steps to the green room, where just a few weeks prior he was making his case to be cast as Benedict. He could hear the murmur of voices grow louder as he approached the room. In addition to Washington and Burr, there was a gaggle of people around -- his eyes immediately found Jefferson, engaged in conversation with Madison. Eliza was standing with a small group of people Alex didn’t know, and John was chuckling in the corner with the casting director. It was a who’s who of people that couldn’t stand him. This should be fun. His eyes wandered back to Jefferson. Was that a pocket square in his blazer? _Pretentious prick._

“Hello, Alexander.” Alex steeled himself, and turned to face Eliza. She was smiling beatifically at him, and leaned in for a cheek kiss.

“Hello to you too. It’s really good to see you.” Surprisingly, it was. “I hope this wasn’t… Did Washington tell you I had been cast?”

“Not until fifteen minutes ago.” She continued smiling. “You were the last person I expected to walk in here today. But I’m a goddamned good actor.” He felt his own smile fade. “The best part about all of this is, even on days when I get a break from you, it seems I’ll be kissing Aaron Burr instead.” She let her eyes drift over to Burr, who was now speaking emphatically at the composer. “You’ll have to give me some pointers on what he likes.”

“Okay everyone, let’s have a seat and get started.” Alex’s half-formed retort was interrupted by Washington’s directive, and Eliza immediately headed for the opposite side of the room. Alex wasn’t sure if he felt like laughing or crying. There was a general shuffling of places and rearranging of chairs and somehow Alex ended up sitting next to Jefferson. Excellent. This could only be going better if--

“Alex?”  John had leaned in, forcing Jefferson to scoot back to make room. Alex awkwardly turned to face him, expecting the worst. “Hey. I just wanted to, um, thank you. For putting in a word for me with Washington. I’m sorry about...how things ended with us. We’ve always been a good team… I mean, we work well together, so I’m looking forward to… anyway. You’ll be great as Benedict.”  

Alex didn’t know what to say. He managed, “Thanks, John. I never meant to...” He was suddenly very aware that Jefferson wasn’t even attempting to hide his eavesdropping. He was leaning back, one eyebrow raised, observing the goings-on like it was a perplexing episode of television. He pressed his lips together, evening out his tone. “You deserve it. Washington is lucky to have you.”

Washington began introducing the producers of _Benedict_ , and John smiled briefly at him before moving away to find a seat.

“Hamilton.”

Alex was still reeling from his one-two punch of exes and it took him a moment to realize that Jefferson had spoken to him. This was all he needed.

“What.” _Come at me, bro._

His hair brushed Alex’s cheek as he leaned in to murmur, “As a matter of curiosity...have you dated everyone in this room?”

Alex felt hysteria bubble up as one of the producers droned on about how thrilled he was at the talent assembled there today. He turned to meet Jefferson’s eyes. Fuck it. “Not yet.”

Jefferson coughed and leaned back. Alex turned back to Washington as he began to outline his vision for their future.

 

********************

 

Thomas managed to pick up the gist as Washington discussed his plan for the show. He had meant to get out his apology, but somehow after listening to Hamilton’s ex apologize, another question had escaped instead. He didn’t even know where it had come from. Hamilton’s mere existence just kept scrambling his words as they made their way from his brain to his mouth. And now he was getting distracted by Hamilton’s constant movement. He wanted to smack him. He was pulling his hair back, bouncing a leg, making notes on his script, or otherwise acting like a puppy that had been cooped up in a crate all day. He tried to fix his expression with something a little less murdery as Washington finished his speech and directed everyone to introduce themselves to the group.  

“James Madison, costume designer. Don’t worry, I’ll make y’all look good.” Thomas clenched his hand and raised it a few inches off the table in an air fist-bump across the room, and Madison returned the subtle gesture with a half-smile.

“Eliza Schuyler. I’ll be playing Peggy Shippen.” A number of people around the room spontaneously clapped. Thomas noted that Eliza had chosen to introduce herself with her character’s maiden name, not the name that tied her to Hamilton’s character. He glanced over to Hamilton, but he didn’t react.

“I’m Aaron Burr -- I’ll be playing General Clinton, and I’m the alternate for Benedict Arnold.” The woman on Thomas’ right made a move to applaud, but stopped when the room stayed quiet.

A few other members of the cast and crew detailed their upcoming jobs, and Thomas focused when one of them cleared his throat. It was the man who had approached Hamilton earlier. “John Laurens. I’ll be stage managing -- can’t wait to get started. This job is a dream come true.” He smiled, and a few other people nodded in agreement. Well. Wasn’t he a precious flower.  

Suddenly it was his own turn, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Thomas Jefferson. I’ll be John André.” Before he could decide if he was supposed to add to that statement, the room burst into applause. He was shocked into silence. He looked over at Hamilton, who had an unreadable look on his face. As the room quieted, Hamilton said, “My name is Alexander Hamilton… I’ll be playing Benedict Arnold.” Cheers erupted again, and Thomas applauded as well. Hamilton glanced at him with a vague look of disbelief, and Thomas resolved anew to repair what he had broken.

Introductions concluded, Washington smiled. “Okay, now the part we’ve all been waiting for. We have the brilliant lyricist of this show here today, so if you need any help with these lines -- and some of them are tongue-twisters -- this is the time. We won’t sing-through today, unless you want to give it a shot.” A few people chuckled. “John, if you’ll read out the stage directions?” The flower nodded instantly.  

Washington looked over to Hamilton to begin.  

It was forty-five minutes later when Thomas started to notice that Hamilton was struggling. He had flubbed a few lines -- they all had; that wasn’t unusual. But Eliza’s character arc began with a courtship from André, and as she and Thomas continued to flirt, Hamilton’s shifting and absent script-scribbling were increasing. Thomas didn’t usually go all out with read-throughs, but Eliza seemed to be leaning into the lines, playing up the coquettishness across the table.  

At Hamilton’s next scene, he tried three times to get through a particularly dense lyrical section, and finally stopped, frustrated. There was a heavy silence in the room. Without thinking, Thomas leaned over under the table and rested his hand above Hamilton’s knee. He abruptly looked up, and Thomas met his eyes. _It’s okay_ , he tried to say with his expression. He gave a small squeeze. Hamilton swallowed and glanced down, then took another breath. This time, he got through the line at speed, and the scene continued on, picking up momentum until it ended in a triumphant conclusion. That was the end of Act I, and Washington called for a break.

Thomas was just standing up to stretch when Hamilton turned on him. “What the fuck was that, Jefferson?”

Thomas froze, eyeing him. “What the fuck was what?”

“You hate me, remember? Why are you trying to help me? Why did you...” He gestured down to his leg, where Thomas had touched.

Thomas sighed. “I owe you an apology for my behavior the last time we met. You have no reason to trust me on this, but that really… wasn’t me. More importantly, I actually believe in this show, and I don’t think that the people are going to get to see how brilliant it is if the two of us are bickering like children behind the scenes.”

Hamilton nodded, warily. “I appreciate that. I probably should have guessed Angelica might find a way to sucker-punch me from across an ocean.” His mouth twisted into a small smile, and he placed his hand back on his knee. “But that doesn’t answer one question.  Why did you touch me?”

Thomas hadn’t actually considered it. “I think… because you were freaking out. And you use your body to express yourself quite eloquently, so I thought it was the quickest way to get you back in the moment.”  

Hamilton kept looking at him, his smile growing. “That’s true. Very astute of you, Mr. Jefferson.” The smile blinked out, as quickly as it had come. Thomas couldn’t keep up. “I’ve made some bad choices that have affected people’s lives, and it just seems like all of them are colliding in spectacular fashion in this room. So, anyway… thanks.”

Thomas looked away. “I’m sure you’ve made mistakes. We all have. But something tells me there have been other... factors that have affected your life. Possibly the same ones that have affected mine.” He did stand up this time, twisting to get the kinks out of his back, keeping his face turned toward Burr on the other side of the room. Hamilton followed his gaze.

“I can’t blame him for everything.”

“Of course not.”

“But we do just seem to keep showing up in each other’s lives, whether we want to or not. And it usually ends up signaling something is about to change.”

 

********************

 

John resolutely focused on making notes on his script based on the first read through of Act I, trying hard to ignore Hamilton and Jefferson’s obvious burgeoning chemistry. He had seen Jefferson touch Hamilton’s knee when he kept screwing up the line, and it twisted the knife he was working on removing from his heart. He was reminded of the last time he had been with Hamilton, and how he was instructed not to touch him. God, he was an idiot.

It didn’t matter - already, the few meetings he had with Washington had proven to him that this was going to be a huge step forward in his career. Washington actually cared about his input, for one thing -- he had suggested a different staging and sound cue for when Arnold gets shot in the knee, and Washington incorporated the change. Lee had always ignored every suggestion he made. He was making a difference. He belonged here. He just wished he didn’t have to watch his ex obviously flirt with one of the better looking people he had ever laid eyes on.

“Hey.”

John looked over at Eliza, surprised that she was addressing him. “Hey. Um, you did great.”

She smiled. “That’s sweet. I’d actually like to talk to you after this… I know you have probably no interest in getting to know me, but whether we like it or not, we have a few things in common, no?” She pointedly looked across the table, then back to John.

He felt his cheeks warm. “How did you…?”

“He talked about you. He felt bad with how things ended. Then again… clearly not that bad because then he went and did the same thing to me. Hey, lie down with dogs, right?” She smiled again, this one a little closer to a grimace.

“Uh…”

“It’s up to you. No pressure. I’m going to meet my sister for a drink when we’re done here. And for full disclosure, I’m also inviting Burr.”

Now John was wondering if this lady had a screw loose. Hamilton had demurred whenever John tried to broach the subject of what happened when he broke up with Eliza, but he had pieced enough together to know that Burr had something to do with it. What was she trying to accomplish? She responded as though she had read his mind.

“Listen, John, there’s so much damn history in this room, and I don’t want all that to get in the way of what we’re trying to do here. I’m hoping that by getting it all out in the open, we can get on the same page and move forward.”

“So... you’re inviting Hamilton too?”

She sighed. “No. It might not be fair, but he tends to… fill up the space he’s in, and I don’t want that to happen tonight. I want to hear your side of the story, and Burr’s, and I hope you’ll be willing to listen to mine.” She smiled wryly. “Besides, Angelica is not his biggest fan, and I’d rather not referee that cage match tonight.”

He was trying to figure out who among them _was_ Hamilton’s biggest fan, when Eliza spoke again. “Look, it’s up to you. We’ll be at Valhalla. Here’s my number.”

Washington called the room to order again to begin Act II.  

 

**********************

 

Aaron slowly gathered up his belongings after the table read, amid the cast and crew hugging and laughing and generally giddy about the start of something transformative. He was happy, too -- he was. This just wasn’t how he had envisioned this day, back when he had first read the script. It was hard not to let a little disappointment seep in, watching Hamilton’s interpretation of the lines, mentally editing with his own version. Would Jefferson have responded in that way, if Aaron had altered the inflection here? Would Eliza have let her eyes fill with tears if Aaron had instead shown a little tenderness there? This was the room where it should have all been happening. As people filtered out, he noticed that Hamilton and Jefferson were still seated, engaged in heated conversation. He wasn’t trying to overhear, but pieces filtered through the noise.

“...draw on the emotions from my own past situations to try to get in the character’s --”

“What? You’re kidding. You’re _method_?”

“I wouldn’t use that term, exactly, but it’s what helps…”

A few of the other minor actors in the show -- _like me_ \-- Aaron’s brain supplied unhelpfully, walked past, nodding at him and smiling in companionship. Aaron smiled back.  

“...just takes you out of the moment, if you have to constantly be thinking about some other time you were mad or whatever--”

“Oh my God that’s not what--”

“That’s _exactly_ what you just described… and _anyway_ ,” Hamilton continued, “I just couldn’t imagine dredging up all that stuff from my past when I’m on stage. I spend most of my time trying to forget…”

A burst of laughter from across the room covered the end of his sentence, but he had heard enough. Aaron suddenly felt guilty for eavesdropping, and pulled his belongings together more quickly to leave. He saw Jefferson reach out and gently tug at Hamilton’s ponytail in a surprisingly intimate gesture. Hamilton paused for a moment then nodded, looking surprised at whatever Jefferson had last said to him.

Aaron walked past the pair without slowing, and was nearly through the door when Eliza Schuyler appeared beside him.

“Hello, Burr. Where are you headed? Mind if I buy you a drink?”


	5. Chapter 5

Alex sat on a wooden chair in the sitting area of Jefferson’s hotel room, drumming his fingers on his knees and trying to keep his posture straight. It wasn’t hard; nerves were making him uneasy. He couldn’t actually believe this was happening. One moment they were arguing about acting choices after an emotionally draining table read. The next moment Jefferson had asked him when he was going to cut off his _Julian Kaiser_ hair and then offered to do it _for_ him.  

Alex had agreed before he had quite processed the shift in conversation, and now Jefferson had deposited him on his chair, disappearing to the bathroom to get scissors and an electric shaver. As he emerged, Alex tried to ease his own nerves by joking, “my coworkers don’t usually bring me to a hotel room before the first rehearsal.” Jefferson raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Based on my limited observation, I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

Alex grinned. “Okay, maybe once or twice.”

The corner of Jefferson’s mouth lifted, and he gently pulled the elastic band from Alex’s hair. He ran his fingers through the strands, working out the crimp from the hair tie. Alex shivered.

“Are you cold? I’ve been having trouble with the thermostat--”

“No, I’m fine. It was just… I’m good.”

Jefferson nodded and continued. He was almost giving him a scalp massage. It felt like heaven. “So we’ll need to get your hair wet; I guess we’ll just do the best we can in the sink.”

The sink turned out to be too small and awkwardly situated. Jefferson placed some throw pillows on the bathroom floor and patted them, signaling Alex to sit. He did, scooting back against the tub, and Jefferson detached the shower nozzle from its base. He pointed it away from Alex as the water warmed up, settling himself on the edge of the tub. Palming the back of Alex’s head, he leaned over him. Alex tried to stare at the ceiling, but Jefferson had shifted so that his crotch was inches away from his face. Did he know what he was doing? Why were his jeans so ridiculously tight? Alex glanced over to see if Jefferson had noticed what was now eye level for him, but he was studiously squeezing out shampoo and foaming it up in his hands. He moved his fingers back to Alex’s hair, massaging his head again. Alex closed his eyes and let out an impromptu groan. Jefferson paused.

“Sorry! It’s just, been a while since anyone’s touched me. Not that you’re -- I didn’t mean -- it just felt good. I’ll try to control myself, you’re doing me a favor here.” Alex opened his eyes to smile self-consciously at Jefferson, who didn’t make eye contact. “Sorry, again.”

“It’s okay. Make all the noise you want.”

Alex blinked. Jefferson rinsed out the shampoo and continued his ministrations with conditioner, slowly increasing the pressure of his fingers to the point where he was almost gripping Alex’s hair and gently pulling. Alex could feel himself responding in a way that was less than professional. He wanted to tell him to not be so gentle. He wanted to push him up against the shower wall and show him how aggressive he could be. He shifted, trying to hide what was becoming embarrassingly obvious, and bit his lip to prevent further moans. Mercifully, Jefferson reached for the shower head and started rinsing.

“Looks like you’re warming up -- your cheeks have a little color in them.” Jefferson was still avoiding eye contact, but he looked like he was trying not to smile. The fucker knew what he was doing. Didn’t he?

Jefferson abruptly stood up and tossed him a towel, then strode back into the living room area. Alex ran the towel through his hair, took a deep breath to get his heart rate back under control, and followed. Jefferson was waiting by the chair. “Ready?”

“Very ready. This is my last official tie to that nightmare of a job.”

Jefferson ran a comb through his hair, then picked up his shears and started snipping off the ends. “Was it that bad? I read some reviews; sounded like audiences loved it.”

“I guess they did. The audiences were great. I just… Charles Lee is a shifty little troll, and I never trusted him. He basically exists to make other people miserable. He tried his damndest to make my life hell. But I thought, if I can pull this role off, then if _Benedict_ ever sees the light of day, I’ll be ready.”

“And you got to work with your boyfriend.” Jefferson casually measured out the length of two sections of hair, and made a small snip.

“John wasn’t… that was my fault. I thought we were having fun, but it became clear that it was more than that to him, and I should have ended it sooner than I did. Or possibly never started it. I don’t know.” Alex shrugged and sighed, and Jefferson placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.  

“Stop moving.”

They were silent for a minute as Jefferson finished chopping the longer sections, and he picked up the shaver. As the buzzing started, he continued, “If you don’t mind the question -- what happened with Eliza? I mostly ask because I’m a nosy bastard, but also, the three of us are going to be working very closely together and it would be nice to have some context. She didn’t seem very fond of you.”

Alex snorted. “Understatement. Well… we started dating in college… and it ended when she thought I cheated on her, but I actually didn’t.”

Jefferson folded down his ear and carefully buzzed around it. “Why did she think that, then?”

“It involved Aaron Burr pretending that he needed to practice a love scene with a man for an audition, and Eliza walking in and not believing that story.”

Jefferson dropped his hand and the razor clicked off. He stared at Alex in the mirror. “What?”

“The worst part is, I tried to explain, but… I think on some level I was relieved it was over. I loved Eliza. She’s amazing. But mostly… it was convenient. And her family had connections in the industry and I got access to some great jobs.” The words tumbled out for the first time, and he closed his eyes, shame rising in him. “That wasn’t the reason I stayed; it felt like everything was just moving along, until… it wasn’t. We weren’t right together.” He opened his eyes to meet Jefferson’s in the mirror again, suddenly desperate to make him understand. “This is probably more than you asked for. Burr did a shitty thing, but so did I. I’ve screwed up more times than I can count. But I never meant to hurt anyone.”

There was a beat. Jefferson picked up the razor again, making some final touches. “I think we’re done here.”

Alex looked at his reflection for the first time that night. He looked more like himself than he had in a year. Unburdening himself of the hair, and of his secret, had left him feeling lighter than he thought possible. Jefferson methodically brushed the trimmings from his neck with his fingertips, and Alex felt all his inhibitions float away with them. He caught Jefferson’s hand, and resumed eye contact in the mirror. Jefferson froze, staring back at him. It felt like an eternity. Alex slowly rose, and turned to face him.

“I saw you in _Dianetics._ ”

“What?” Jefferson swallowed a laugh at the non sequitur.

Alex’s voice was low. He could hear a ticking clock somewhere in the room. “I tried to meet you, back then. I told myself it was to express professional admiration.”

“And what did you want to say?” The words were barely above a whisper.

“I wanted to say… I had never lost myself in someone else’s performance before. Everything I watch, I constantly analyze -- have arguments in my head with the actors on stage, write down notes after of everything I would do differently. Or everything that worked so that I can incorporate it in some future piece. But…”

Jefferson was just watching him, vulnerable, his hands forgotten by his sides. He continued.

“...but, there was something about you that night. I got lost. That was seven years ago… and now I found you again. What is it about you, Mr. Jefferson?”

Jefferson glanced down to his lips and back up to his eyes. He wasn’t imagining this. He couldn’t be. He stepped closer, slowly enough to give Jefferson time to move away, or punch him, or laugh. He didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he waited one more heart-stopping moment. He then let out a frustrated breath, gripped the back of Alex’s neck and pulled him into the kiss.

Alex felt his knees buckle and Jefferson’s arms immediately circled him to press him closer. This moment had always been, for him, just beyond the periphery of what was possible, achievable. Some dreams just stay hovering on the horizon. But he had always achieved the impossible, and he had always known that this too would happen, someday.  

Once his brain caught up to his body, he began to gain control of the kiss, feeling Jefferson respond immediately. His hands were ghosting over his arms, throat, torso. Jefferson reached a hand up to Alex’s head to grip the hair he had just clipped, and this time, pulled firmly. Alex laughed against his mouth, helpless.

“Hm, I thought you liked that.”

The words were murmured against his mouth, and Alex responded by pushing him back to the bed and climbing over him. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”  

Jefferson flashed a brilliant grin at him, and Alex had to suck in another breath of air. With inches between them, he still felt that he was too far away. Every nerve was on fire. The buildup and release of tension from the table read, arguing like they were the only two people in the room, Jefferson’s sure and steady hands touching him as he washed his hair… Alex reached out for the hem of his shirt, ridden halfway up his stomach anyway after Alex pushed him on the bed, and pulled to get it the rest of the way off. Jefferson sat halfway up, silent, letting him.  

For a moment, Alex simply looked at him, just because he could. _So damn beautiful._ Then the dam burst inside of him, and he needed to be touching everywhere at once. Alex fumbled with Jefferson’s stupidly tight jeans, and Jefferson seemed to be losing some of his ironclad control as well. He managed to undo Alex’s pants first, and kissed his throat as his hands skimmed the rest of him. Alex wasn’t holding back with his moans anymore. He gripped the back of his neck, his other hand reaching lower, cataloging every expression he made. He wanted to file this information away and use it over and over again.  

Jefferson’s breaths were coming more quickly now, and he pressed his forehead against Alex’s. He couldn’t seem to stop kissing him, and Alex never stopped touching him in return. When he came, he cried out against Alex’s mouth, breathing his air, grabbing a fistful of the comforter to steady himself.  He kissed him like he had been doing it for years, like he had figured out exactly what he liked a long time ago.

Alex wanted to live in this moment, forever. He hardly realized he was mumbling a steady stream of praise as he used his lips to explore Jefferson’s body while he recovered-- “god, you’re so fucking hot, look at you, I love what you do to me, I love how you look when you come...”

His praise devolved into curses as Jefferson started stroking him in earnest, kissing his mouth, cheeks, eyelids, like he wasn’t a monumental fuck-up, like he didn’t ruin everything good, like he deserved pleasure. He wanted to be worthy of someone like him. He wanted to be enough.

“You’re so lovely, Alexander… I wanted you, you have no idea… come for me, _now.”_ He did, right on cue, so obedient at taking direction. He felt boneless, panting, in disbelief that this had actually happened, after all this time.

As their breathing slowed, they laid together in companionable silence. Alex eventually cleared his throat. “Think Benedict Arnold and John André ever did that?”

Jefferson smirked, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Possibly. There was a lot of tension to work out with all that double-crossing and espionage…”

Alex grinned at him. “So will this inform how you interact with Arnold in the show now, since you’re so method?”

Jefferson groaned. “Do not start.”

“No, I’m just saying, if you draw from real life experiences, and you incorporate how you feel in this moment…”

“You mean annoyed?” His mild tone belied his words as his fingers gently ran up and down Alex’s forearm.

“Hey, don’t blame me if you have buyer’s remorse… _you_ seduced _me_ by bringing me back to your hotel room.”

“I simply wanted you to look more presentable. As a _Benedict_ representative.” He ran his fingers through Alex’s hair and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“We’ll go with that story." Alex looked around, as though he suddenly realized where they were. "Why do you live in a hotel, anyway?”

“I’m looking for an apartment. I’ve been living in another country, in case you didn’t know, so I’ve had a few details to work out.”

“Right.” Alex suddenly felt unsettled. “Do you think… you’ll go back to England when this is over?”  

Jefferson looked at him. “I hadn’t really thought about it. We’re just getting started. I’ve spoken to Washington about his plan for getting the show to Broadway, and working with a limited number of producers to minimize decision power.”

Alex frowned. “He hasn’t mentioned that option to me.”

“Based on what I’ve seen with the rise and fall of shows in the West End, I recommended increasing the number of individual backers to get the financing he needs. I think that’s the best shot at maintaining creative autonomy and getting this show to run for a long time.”  

Alex shook his head. “Works in theory, but this is a pretty big-budget production. I don’t know how far diversifying the funding is going to stretch. Sometimes you have to give a little to get a lot.”

“Well, it’s better than being beholden to some asshole producer that’s going to have all the decision-making power. Worst case scenario...” Jefferson trailed off, tense.

Alex swallowed his frustration, willing himself not to escalate the argument. It took everything in him. “This is the sexiest pillow talk I’ve ever had.”

Jefferson’s fingers running through his hair paused, and he gripped a handful, smirking. “Shut it.”

Alex groaned obnoxiously, eyes twinkling. “You know what that does to me -- careful, unless you’re ready for round two.”

 

***********************

 

Angelica, Eliza and Laurens were on their second round when Burr walked in. He had declined to walk from the theater with them, so Angelica assumed he had just gone home. She nudged Eliza. “He showed.”

He stopped at the bar, then carried his drink over to their table. Eliza lifted her own beer in welcome. “Should we get a round of shots to make this less awkward?”

Laurens nodded enthusiastically, while Burr shook his head. “I usually just stick to one.”

Angelica raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I remember about you, Burr.”

“Pardon?”

“Well, the only other time we’ve met… the AXO winter party my senior year. You were _not_ sober.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t remember too many details about that night.”

“Then maybe that’s where we should start.”  

Laurens took a long pull of his beer, and scanned the crowd for the waitress for a refill.

 

_Angelica had been working for weeks to organize the last AXO gathering of the semester: the annual Snow Ball. This was their flagship party of the semester, and as Social Chair, it was her responsibility to make sure sure it was the nonpareil. With decorations in place, zipped into the perfect dress, and hours spent finalizing hair and makeup, Angelica led Eliza into into the transformed first floor of their house._

_“Well? What do you think?” She was anxious, knowing that Eliza would be honest. She looked around slowly, brow furrowed, making Angelica sweat it out. She finally nodded, solemnly._

_"This is perfect. You killed it.”_

_Angelica beamed.  Then let’s celebrate.”_

_The DJ started up, the other sisters started drifting downstairs, and the drinks started flowing. The house was slowly filling up with fraternity brothers that Angelica had either dated briefly or otherwise dismissed as possibilities long ago, when Alexander Hamilton walked into the house._

_She had never laid eyes on him before, which was unusual -- four years of orbiting in the same social circles meant that virtually everyone knew everyone.  He was more wiry than her usual type, but his confidence caught her eye instantly. Shirt sleeves rolled up, he wore a green and white horizontal striped skinny tie and fitted black pants. His eyes darted around the room, and his face relaxed into a dazzling smile when he spotted her friend Maria. She felt an immediate stab of disappointment. But then again -- their greeting was more friendly than romantic, and she realized Maria was standing awfully close to some Psi U brother. Maria gestured the newcomer to the bar, and he nodded and started making his way over. He ended up standing right next to Angelica._

_“Hi there. I’m Alexander Hamilton.”_

_“Angelica.” She stuck out her hand, and he flashed that smile at her, now almost blinding at close range. She swallowed. “So you know Maria?”_

_He looked back over his shoulder. “Oh -- yeah. We were in a class together this semester, and she told me about the party. I’m new… just transferred… so I thought it was a good opportunity to meet more people. You guys really go all out with your socials.” He raised an eyebrow as he glanced around._

_"Thank you. I organized this one.”_

_He whistled. “Angelica the Party Planner Extraordinaire.”_

_She smiled graciously, but felt an immediate need to defend herself. “Well, I do more than party planning.” Ugh, obviously. Why did she say that?_

_“I have no doubt. So what are your ambitions beyond sorority life, Angelica?”_

_“Beyond the usual? Travel, philanthropy… I’m an art history major. I’ll probably want to own my own gallery someday, but that’s further down the road…”_

_He nodded. “Tough career path. You don’t like to take the easy way out, do you?”_

_She felt exposed under his gaze. “And what about you?”_

_“Theatre major -- acting. Painless path to fame and fortune.” He grinned again, and Angelica laughed._

_“Angelica! There you are.  And who’s this?” Eliza had zeroed in on Hamilton, and Angelica felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew that look._

_"This is Alexander. He’s an actor, like you.” Angelica pushed down any burgeoning feelings that might have developed. She only had one semester left of college; it would be dumb to start anything up. It was better for Eliza to give it a shot. Alexander had turned to take in Eliza, her flawless skin, beautiful flowing hair, dress that fit like a glove._

_“Really? We haven’t had a class together yet.”_

_“Well let’s hope that changes next semester.” He smiled -- a little less authentically, Angelica thought. But she was probably imagining things. She gazed around the room, and saw Aaron Burr making his way through the crowd. She seized on the opportunity._  
  
_“Oh -- I just saw a friend walk in. I’ll be back!” Eliza grabbed her arm as she started to walk away._

_“Hey. You okay? Were you two…?” she murmured in a low voice, barely audible above the beat of the music._

_“No, of course not. You guys are a perfect fit.” She winked, and nodded at Hamilton as she strode off. She didn’t see if he watched her walk away._

 

“God, I knew it.” Eliza was staring at her. “I _knew_ you liked him. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because…” Angelica gestured helplessly. “It didn’t matter. And I wanted you to be happy.”

Eliza shook her head, her eyes growing a little damp. “You know what… I think on some level I did know I was stealing him from you when I busted in. I was young, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole. I’m sorry.”

Angelica leaned over and hugged her close. “It’s all good. It was a long time ago.”

“This is all really sweet and everything but this is actually about the guy _I_ was seeing at the time? So forgive me if I’m not going to join in the group hug.” Laurens took another drink.  

Burr had stayed quiet up until this point. “I thought it was a little strange Angelica greeted me so enthusiastically... We hardly knew each other.”

“Yeah well, didn’t stop you from trying to make a move.”

“What was I supposed to think?" He shot back in disbelief. "You sprinted through the crowd to give me a hug!”

“Oh you remember _that_ part, do you?”

Eliza cleared her throat. “Let’s fast forward a little bit, because that’s the bit that’s relevant.” Laurens raised a lime wedge in cheers and downed a tequila shot.

 

_Angelica was laughing hysterically at something Burr had said--_

 

“I was _not --_ Let me tell it.”

 

_Angelica was barely interested in whatever Burr was talking about, but she was pretending to be fascinated, keeping one eye on Eliza. She was drinking a little more than usual, so Angelica decided to nurse just the one Snowy Seduction -- the soiree’s signature drink -- for the night._

_After about an hour of politely demurring refills while Burr steadily got drunker, Angelica saw Eliza take Hamilton’s hand, heading for the stairs._

_“Oh shit.” she muttered under her breath.  Burr followed her gaze, blinking a little forcefully._

_“Well, guess he’s officially done with Laurens, then.”_

_“What? Who’s Lauren?”_

_“They were nuzzling… Hey, did I tell you I have a trust fund?”_

_“Focus, Burr. Who was nuzzling?”_

_“Hamilton was. He asked me to come to this party. I can text Laurens to see if they’re done? Or I could just ask Hamilton --_ Hey! HAMILTON!"

_Angelica slapped a hand over his mouth and looked around, smiling reassuringly at the people who had glanced over at the exclamation. She thought asking anyone anything in this situation was a terrible idea, but also wanted to minimize potential fallout for whatever Eliza was about to do. “Okay, send the text.”_

_Burr pulled out his phone and squinted at it, scrolling through some options. Angelica was tapping her foot, glancing back toward the stairs, wondering if she should just screw it and go up there... Burr finally finished typing and unsteadily held the device out like an offering. “I did it!”_

 

_Burr: Ur done with Hamitlon right? He just went upstairs with a sorority girl bam chicka wam_

_Laurens:  Who is this?_

_Laurens: Hello???_

_Laurens: Yeah, we’re done._

 

Laurens shook his head, staring down at the table. “Well that clears some things up. It would have been nice if he had had the balls to talk to me himself, but I guess I got my wish the second time around.”

Burr looked vaguely ill. “I have no memory of that conversation, or texting anyone. I actually said the thing about the trust fund…?”

“Yeah, you were flaunting all your assets.” Angelica deadpanned.

Eliza sighed. “We didn’t sleep together that night! He didn’t tell me he was seeing someone, so that wasn’t ideal, but nothing happened. For the most part.”

Laurens stared at her. “What does that mean?”

 

_Eliza had been talking exclusively to Hamilton all night. Not only that, she was using some of her best moves on him, tried and true, but he was frustratingly maintaining his distance. Either he was just being polite, or…_

_“So you didn’t bring your girlfriend tonight?” Oldest trick in the book, but she was out of options._

_He laughed, and looked away a little uncomfortably. “No girlfriend.”_

_“Good. Interested in getting a tour of the house?”_

_He met her eyes for a beat, seeming to wage some internal battle. “Sure.”_

_She took his hand and led him upstairs. Chattering through a half-hearted history lesson of the house as they walked, she was mostly noting how quiet he was, after he had been so talkative all evening. She paused in front of her bedroom, and opened the door._

_“Eliza--”_

_“No more talking.” She shut the door behind them and pressed her mouth hard to his. This was the first time she used this trick to get him to shut up, but it wouldn’t be the last. He stood frozen for what felt like an hour, but then, slowly, he responded. She felt his body move into hers, and he started kissing her in earnest, his hands skimming from her hips to the nape of her neck and the small of her back, pressing her flush against him--_

 

“Okay, let’s just skip ahead to the dramatic conclusion, shall we?” Laurens was tipping his empty tequila shot glass into his mouth, desperately trying to get a few last drops.

“I was _about_ to.”

 

\-- _flush against him, when suddenly he pulled away, pressing a hand to his mouth. Eliza stared at him, confused._

_“Uh… are you okay?”_

_“Yeah. Yes. I just… I should probably get going.  It’s late.” He leaned in and quickly kissed her on the cheek, the ghost of his earlier smile playing on his lips. “Thank you for a lovely evening. It was much more fun than I expected it to be… Please tell your sister she throws a hell of a party.”_

_He turned and opened the door, nearly running into Angelica. They stared at each other for a moment, then Hamilton continued down the stairs, Angelica looking back into the room. Eliza was sitting on her bed, her eyes starting to fill with tears._

_“What the fuck did that bastard do to you? I’ll kill him. I’ll be right back.” Angelica kicked off her heels and turned to run down the stairs._

_“No! Angelica. It’s fine. He didn’t want to do anything… well, I think he did, he kissed me back, but then he just… left.” She started laughing through the tears. “Do you lose all sex appeal when you turn twenty?”_

_Angelica padded in and sat next to her on the bed, and Eliza rested her head on her shoulder. “Yeah the entertainment industry has pretty much decided that nineteen is the cutoff for women. I’ve been yesterday’s garbage for two years now.”_

_Eliza sniffled. “Fucking actors.”_

 

There was silence at the table for a moment.

“He stopped by the house a week later, and we started over. It took a while for me to get the full story… I guess he tried to call you, but--”

“I had blocked his number.”  John muttered.

“Yeah. So… he came back.”

Another pause. Angelica cleared her throat and turned to Burr.

“Well! I guess that brings us to you.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Okay, let’s take a break.”

Washington disappeared to consult with John and a producer, as the number where Peggy and Arnold first meet just wasn’t hitting the emotional punch the script called for. Alex suspected that he was the problem; finding himself as the object of Eliza’s affection again -- even though it wasn’t real -- was a little disorienting. The light scent of her shampoo as she leaned into him, the sparkle in her eyes as she laughed at a joke someone else wrote; it was all too familiar and foreign at the same time. She followed Washington off the stage before Alex could say another word, and pulled out her script to study.

To clear his head and keep himself energized, Alex challenged Jefferson to a rap battle. He won the first round, the second round was more of a draw, and Jefferson nailed the last round when he spat out the rhymes faster than Alex could process them. The company was gathered around at this point, cheering and booing in turns, and Alex whooped when he got handily beat.  

His delight at witnessing Jefferson raise his game was summarily quashed when glanced over to see Eliza peering at him appraisingly. Alex’s meetups with Jefferson after rehearsal were quickly becoming a past time. While an unspoken agreement meant that they maintained their distance at work, Alex knew it was only a matter of time before someone figured it out. Eliza was especially good at reading people, and Alex had always left his book wide open. Jefferson noticed his shift in mood.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.”

“If you can’t handle getting beat then don’t play the game.” Jefferson playfully nudged him.

“That’s not --” He stopped, talking a step away from Jefferson. “I’m just getting anxious. We’re getting better every day, but if we keep expanding beyond what the script calls for, the budget is going to be too stressed.”

It was true. Alex was now staying after rehearsal most days with Washington to offer unsolicited suggestions and discuss the financial situation. At first Washington dismissed him, but Alex persisted, and lately he had been allowing more detailed discussion and sharing his concerns with Alex. Washington was unsure that he was making the right decisions sometimes. He recognized the pressure he was under to make history.

While the set seemed relatively simple, the complexities of the show were more intricate than Alex had ever encountered before. Every turn, every lighting cue, every pause was accounted for, and repeated and reworked until Washington found it acceptable. He was sparing with his praise and relentless in his quest for perfection. As time marched on to the first preview, Alex could tell that loyalties toward Washington were divided. John always defended him; Burr was carefully neutral. Jefferson frequently questioned Washington’s decisions, but Alex pressing him for a better solution usually devolved into an argument.

Alex wished they could understand how lucky they were. He hadn’t quite realized how miserable it was working for Lee until he came through the other side. He tried to tell them, tried to make Jefferson understand. He was so _stubborn._

Jefferson shrugged. “So Washington needs to spend more time courting backers.”

“He told me yesterday he might have an angel investor… but I think he’s going to want decision-making power.”

“If that’s true, then Washington would be an idiot to take it.”  Jefferson frowned out toward the non-existent audience.

“What did you say?”  
  
“We all have input now. We are putting our blood, sweat, and tears into this thing and for some rich asshole to sweep in--”

“Okay, we’ll come back to this, let’s move on to ‘Unchangeable’.” Washington was striding back into the theater, John trailing behind.

Alex jumped off the stage, turning his back on Jefferson as he and Eliza took their places. He tried to focus, his frustration at Jefferson making it difficult. He could be so damn short-sighted.

In ‘Unchangeable’, André convinces Peggy to court Arnold so that André can get close enough to convince him to turn to the British side. It was staged as a duet that André and Peggy perform through the letters they write to each other after he leaves Philadelphia. Peggy’s scheming is masked by her steadfast support of her lover’s plan, while André’s singular focus on turning Arnold is painful in its desperation.

Alex sat back and observed Jefferson’s movements. He hid it well, but Alex could tell he was irritated too. It made him want to kiss him to make it better, and punch him to knock some sense into him in equal measure.

“Alexander?” Alex stifled a sigh and turned to look at Burr.

“Mister Burr.”  
  
“I’ve been thinking about this for a little while, and... I wanted you to know. I got together with Eliza, Angelica and Laurens. The night of the table read.”

“You... what? _Why?"_  Alex was not expecting that. "Do any of you even like each other?”

“Of course.  Well, Eliza and Angelica do, obviously. I like… I like all of them. Anyway, I think it was good, in the end. We were able to bring some information to light that should have been revealed a long time ago.”  

“What information?” Alex asked warily. He thought of his own secrets he divulged that night, to Jefferson.

“Eliza told us -- more importantly, she told Laurens -- what happened at the party.”  

Alex stilled, disbelieving. He didn’t need Burr to specify which party. He knew John had the wrong idea of what happened that night, but he didn’t know how, and he didn’t feel that the truth was so far off that he had ever needed to correct it anyway.

“I didn’t remember this, but… apparently I was the one who texted Laurens to say that you had gone upstairs with Eliza.”

Alex shifted his gaze toward Eliza onstage, laughing at something Jefferson had said. That night felt like a lifetime ago. Alex didn’t know if he was more pissed off at Burr for being the conductor of another one of his breakups, or himself for making shitty decisions. After two seconds of careful consideration, he decided that it felt good to point his anger at someone else for once, so he gathered up his vitriol and beamed it in Burr’s direction. “Of course you fucking did, that’s what you--”

“However,” Burr continued, unfazed, “I also told Eliza that what she walked in on that day in your apartment was my idea. My fault. I was blinded by professional jealousy and I made it personal. So, I’m sorry, Alexander. And I wanted you to know.”

“...Jesus.”

All at once, the fight drained out of him. He had been so angry and tired for so long. The chaos of his childhood had fueled the belief that he needed to take charge of his destiny, and if that were true, then his failures were the result of his own actions. He thought back to his first meeting with Burr -- the idolization he felt, and the kinship they shared. He remembered the promise Burr’s future held, and his own arrogance, and how far they both had fallen. He thought about how far they still had left to climb.

Jefferson had looked over his shoulder toward them from his position on stage, trying to hide his disquietude. Alex shook his head slightly, his earlier irritation dissolved. _Tell you later_ , he tried to say, telepathically. Jefferson nodded as though he understood. Hey, that was neat. _Meet me after rehearsal at my apartment with all of your clothes off,_ he tried _._ Jefferson had turned his focus back to Washington. Oh well.

“Alexander?”

“Hm? Yes. Thanks for… thanks. Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, too.”

“Okay.”

Alex paused for a moment, looking down at his script.  He tapped it once, and lifted his gaze to Burr’s carefully neutral expression. “I’ve been having trouble getting the tone right during Arnold’s court-martial. The vindication of his acquittal has to be balanced with his formal reprimand, which of course leads us to the final betrayal... I feel like I’m going too far with the anger, too soon.”  He paused again. “We’re both Arnold, so it would benefit the show if we could create this character together. I could use your help.”

Alex didn’t know if he was just repeating his own damned history by opening up the door to trust Burr again. He just felt compelled to try.

“Of course. We’ll touch base later -- excuse me.”

As Burr headed back to the wings, Alex leaned back in his chair. Eyes on stage, he returned to observing his past and his present interact while he hoped like hell for a brighter future.

 

*********************

 

John had been instructed by Washington to meet with Eliza after rehearsal to confirm a few changes from the day. He was finalizing his notes in the wings when he heard Eliza and Jefferson approach after finishing their scene. They were the last ones left in the theater -- the rest of the company had been dismissed over an hour ago.  Jefferson nodded at him before grabbing his bag to leave.  He had just turned to go when Eliza called after him, “and where are you hurrying off to, Thomas? Hot date?”

Jefferson paused, quickly glancing at John before addressing her. “Actually, yes. I was going to see if Angelica was free for a drink -- we’ve hardly had a chance to get together since we both got to New York.”

“Oh, nice… She’ll be happy to see you.”

He nodded and took another step before she continued. “So... what _have_ you been doing with all your time? I know we’re working a lot but you know, she’s been around.” The question was innocent enough, but Jefferson looked tense. John wondered what he was missing here.

“Working, moving into a new apartment, sleeping. Living the glamorous life.” Jefferson raked his fingers through his hair.

“Aren’t we all. Well have fun tonight; I’m sure Angelica will tell me all about it when she gets home.” Eliza smiled sweetly again, and turned back to John.  Jefferson swallowed, looking a little angry now, and stalked off.

“What was that about?” John was baffled.

Eliza hesitated, then shrugged. “Angelica has been trying to get together with him for a while. I thought I’d try to figure out why he’s been blowing her off. If he’s got somewhere else to be, why not just say that? What’s he being shady about?”

“I can’t say we’ve ever had a heart to heart.” John muttered drily. “I don’t get the impression he likes me much. Come to think of it, I don’t know that he likes anyone that much. Just Madison… and Angelica, I guess.”

“And Alexander.” Eliza was settling in, preparing for their meeting, and tossed the name off casually. John felt the wind slightly knocked out of him.  After their incredibly uncomfortable but strangely cathartic Valhalla venture and the accompanying killer hangover he nursed the next day, John and Eliza hadn’t spent any time together alone. And they certainly hadn’t discussed Hamilton.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why do you say that? They seem to fight more than anything else.”

“Hm? Oh, I know right? I’m probably imagining things.” Eliza was watching him now. “Did he ever fight with you, John?”

“...No. Not really.” He was feeling a little sick.

“Yeah. Me either. I’ve only seen him get that fired up about his work before.”

 

_“Alexander, calm down.”_

_“This is_ bullshit _and you know it, Laf. Don’t tell me to calm down.”_

_Hamilton had stormed into the booth during intermission of the preview, startling John and Lafayette. John had never seen him like this, and was stunned into silence. Lafayette had taken over trying to smooth over the situation._

_“He just spent ten minutes detailing everything that went wrong with the first act, and it was entirely about my performance. He’s wrong about all of it, for starters, but even if I did screw up, how is that helpful? I have to go do Act II now, and this is all in my head.” He stared down at the curtain._

_“You were phenomenal. Don’t listen--”_

_“The best part was when he told me that his family is here tonight, and I better not embarrass him. I said if there was any way I could without letting the rest of you down, I absolutely would. Then some other words were exchanged that I won’t repeat.”_

_“Alex…”_

_“At least the good thing is that he won’t be able to return the favor. Nobody’s here for me tonight.” He smiled bitterly._

_John and Lafayette exchanged looks. “Alexander… we get it, believe me, but if it’s really that bad, you can quit.”_

_“No I can’t.” He went to rub his eyes, but realizing that would smudge his makeup, he stopped, frustrated. He clenched his hands into fists instead. “This is all I have, Laf. I’ve been unofficially blacklisted from every show that has Schuyler Foundation money attached to it -- and that cash has a surprisingly far reach. If I want to have any chance at_ Benedict _, this is it. And apparently I’m blowing it.”_

_“Look at me.” Lafayette said fiercely. Hamilton’s eyes snapped to his face. “When the first review comes out, you won’t have to take my word for how wrong Lee is. And no matter what -- we’re in this together. We’ll be here for you.”_

_Hamilton evaluated him for a moment, then smiled sadly._

_Lafayette looked to John. “Right, John?”_

_John nodded and checked the clock, still feeling stricken. He had thought the first act had actually been going pretty well, considering, like, the plot. “Of course. Alex, I’m sorry, we have to…”_

_“I know. On with the show. Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Thanks for listening.” He drew himself up, training himself back into character. He reached out to squeeze John’s shoulder gently as he passed, as if he were the one seeking comfort._

 

John rubbed his shoulder unconsciously and started flipping through his book.  
  
“Everything okay, John?” Eliza's piercing gaze made it feel like she could see right through him. _How did she do that?_

“Fine. I was just… that reminded me of this bad night in _Julian Kaiser and Bruno._ Lee was hard on all of us, but Alex got the brunt of it.” He shook his head.

Eliza didn't seem interested in further details of Alexander's No Good Very Bad night. “Out of curiosity, have you been in touch with Charles Lee lately?”

John grimaced. “Never again, if I can help it. Why?”

“I heard he was working on something new. Supposedly it’s going to be ready to workshop early next year, looking for an off-Broadway debut in the fall.”

“Anything I might have heard of?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “He was so thrilled with the last jaunt that it seems he decided to try his hand at a Shakespeare rip-off again. I got a hold of the script -- it’s a retelling of _The Tempest_ from Caliban’s point of view. It could be interesting, but I’m sure Lee will find a way to screw it up.”

John shook his head. “Thank God we have _Benedict._ I might have been forced to work on that just to make rent.”

Eliza smiled. “How lucky we are.”

He smiled shyly at her, nervous. He wondered how the Schuyler family felt about Eliza sharing a stage with Hamilton now. He decided not to ask.

“So, Washington wanted us to go over your solo in Act II when Peggy feigns madness after Arnold’s betrayal is exposed. He wants this to be your ‘Rose’s Turn’.”

“Works for me. Who’s ready for a mental breakdown?”

John tried to push Hamilton out of his mind.

 

*******************

 

Thomas hurried across the street, glancing down at his phone to see if there had been a response to his text yet. He didn’t think quickly enough on his feet to choose an alibi that Eliza wouldn’t be able to disprove -- but he mostly felt guilty that he really _hadn’t_ caught up with Angelica lately. His days were taken up with rehearsal and his nights were spent with Hamilton, and he wasn’t ready to discuss the latter with her.

He wasn’t even entirely sure how they had gotten here. Hamilton frustrated him to no end. From his constant motion to his obnoxious contrariness to his fussy clothing… to the way he responded to Thomas’ touch like it gave him life, to the fire in his eyes when he made an argument, to the haircut -- which had required a few trimmings since then -- that was proof of Hamilton’s trust in him.

His phone finally buzzed.

 

Angelica: Hey, look who’s still alive. Sorry, I have plans tonight, but let me know if you can find time in the new year and I’ll confirm.

 

She had ended with an emoji with the tongue sticking out so he would know she was only a little pissed at him. He deserved it. He sighed, pausing at an intersection, and quickly typed out a new text before reversing direction and heading uptown.

He knocked on Hamilton’s door, brushing a few snowflakes from his hair while shivering slightly from the walk. The door swung open and Hamilton eagerly scanned him from head to foot, his smile faltering slightly. Thomas looked down at himself.

“Something wrong?”  
  
“No, you just have your clothes on. Come in.”

Thomas didn’t ask. He was used to Hamilton’s thoughts operating a slightly different frequency, and trying to get on the same wavelength usually ended in a harangue and a slight headache.

He toed off his shoes and followed Hamilton into the apartment, realizing that there was a glass of wine waiting for him on the coffee table next to Hamilton’s beer. Hamilton didn’t even drink wine, he just started keeping it around for Thomas. He swallowed the complicated feeling that rose in his throat as he looked at the glass, then sat down next to Hamilton on the couch. Hamilton quickly fitted himself to Thomas’ side.

“How did the rest of rehearsal go?”  

Thomas cleared his throat and picked up the wine, settling his other arm around Hamilton. His fingertips lightly traced a path up and down his arm. “I think we figured out what wasn’t working... It felt better by the time we broke for the night. He asked Laurens and Eliza to stay later to work on ‘Hysteria’.”

“Sounds cozy.” Hamilton reached for his beer.

“Also… Eliza might suspect something. About... us.” He wasn’t even sure why he brought it up. He didn’t know what they were to each other, and he had had misgivings from the start. It wasn’t a good idea to get romantically involved with a cast member on the same show. It didn’t stop people from doing it all the time, but he had never been one of them. It had the potential to go so wrong.

Hamilton sat back a little to look at him. “What did she do?”

“She insinuated that I’ve been acting like I have something to hide… specifically, from Angelica. And of course, she’s right. I haven’t been honest with Angelica, and it’s been bothering me.”

“Mm. Well, don’t hold back on my account. You know how she feels about me, she could give you a hundred reasons to end it nice and quick.” Hamilton had sat back against the arm of the couch, putting distance between them. Thomas would have laughed at his transparency if he wasn’t so exasperated.

“I’m not secretly tallying up reasons until there’s enough of a reason to dump you, you nitwit.”

Hamilton’s eyes widened. “Nitwit?”

“I’m irritated at myself, because I’ve been neglecting my friendships for the purely selfish reason that I want to spend my spare time with you.”

“But you’re not telling Angelica because you know she wouldn’t approve.”

“I’m not telling Angelica because she would tell Eliza, and I thought you might want to be the one to have that conversation, like an adult.”

“No, I just figured she’d walk in on us making out one day, that’s usually how she finds out.” He muttered.

“Hamilton.”

“I’ll talk to Eliza. I’ll gladly announce it via bullhorn in Times Square; I’d put it on the damn _Benedict_ marquee. I just thought you would get tired of me by now. I’ve kept it quiet for _your_ sake -- so it would be easier for you to leave.” He was clutching his beer bottle like the rope to a life raft.

Thomas placed his hand on Hamilton’s knee, the same spot he had touched him when he was freaking out at the table read. “I want to talk to Angelica. I want to tell her how after years of being just fine on my own, I’ve found someone that I want to spend more time with. An irritating, brilliant, hyperactive, sickeningly talented... nitwit.”

“You do?” He had relaxed a little.

“Yes.” Thomas felt that he could leave it at that. He didn’t have any expectations, but Hamilton deserved to know how he felt.

“And you think I’m brilliant?” He smirked, mischievously.

“I should have known that’s what you would focus on… let’s circle back to ‘irritating’.”

Hamilton laughed and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. He sat back and was quiet for some time.

“You know,” he started haltingly. “I had that kind of relationship with Angelica, once. She was my best… she’s a good friend.” He started absently picking at the label on his beer.

Thomas was a little taken aback. “You did? She never mentioned you. Not until I started talking about the auditions.”

“Yeah, she wouldn’t. Once Eliza and I… she just cut me out. I understood.” He shrugged. “You leave the relationship with the friends you came in with. That’s how it should be.”

Thomas brushed his thumb over Hamilton’s bottom lip, tearing his attention away from the mess he was making with the label. “And who did you leave with?”

Hamilton looked at him for a beat. The shadows under his eyes seemed more pronounced tonight. He abruptly changed the subject. “So, I knew Eliza suspected something about us today, too.”

Thomas frowned. “What did she say to you?”

“Nothing, actually. She just… looked at me.”

Thomas felt a knot of jealousy tighten in his chest. It wasn’t rational -- he knew that -- but Eliza was a part of his history. She had had thousands of opportunities to look at him and see the changes over time. She was there to see the wounds develop from a hundred small and large cuts as life marched on, she saw the scars as they formed. He had missed so many years of Hamilton. It took him a second to realize he was still talking.

“...When I was looking at you. I must not be as sneaky as I think I am.”

Hamilton’s expression loosened the knot in his chest immediately. On the surface it was fond, almost sentimental. But underneath there was a heat that shot directly to the pleasure centers of his brain, that kept him coming back again and again like an addict needing a fix.

“Come here.” He whispered, and Hamilton slowly moved toward him, eyes searching his face like there was an answer there to a question he had already asked.

 

*******************

 

Angelica tucked her phone into her purse as she approached the restaurant. She paused as she took in the ivy crawling down either side of the door. Candles lit the tables through the picture windows, and a faint strain of jazz drifted out into the street as a couple exited and the man held the door for her expectantly. Angelica thanked him and hurried through.

She approached the hostess stand and looked around.

“May I help you?”

“Oh, actually I see my -- uh, the the person I’m… thanks.” Angelica smiled at her quickly and crossed to the far side of the restaurant.

“Hello, Angelica.”

“Hey there, Burr.”

Angelica had been something beyond surprised to hear from him a few days ago. She was just walking back to Eliza’s apartment after spending the day with friends from college and their toddler aged children. It had been hours of listening to feeding schedules and sleep training methods and finally giving up on having a real conversation as the women feigned interest in advancing a topic while apologizing every time Jaxson or Bryson expressed a need for attention.

They talked about their husbands in abstract compliments, praising their dedication to fatherhood despite their demanding jobs. They asked after Angelica’s husband, overly enthusiastic about her life overseas. They inserted their vision of what they imagined it was like, not hearing Angelica when she insisted it was just life, somewhere else. They didn’t talk about whether they were lonely or overwhelmed sometimes, or how they wished they could go a day without someone’s hands grabbing at them. They didn’t talk about how life was both the same and so much different than what they envisioned when they were nineteen.

When Burr had called, Angelica jumped at the chance to spend an evening with someone with whom she might be able to have a real conversation, since Eliza was always working late these days and Jefferson was still avoiding her for some reason. Belatedly, she now wondered why she was here, in this little French-Italian restaurant on a Thursday night.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me. I know we don’t really... socialize… would you like some wine?”

The waiter had appeared, requesting their drink orders.  Angelica indicated that whatever he wanted would be fine, and he chose a bottle of Bordeaux.

“Honestly, I was glad you called. That was a long day with a lot of little kids.”

“Ah. You don’t like children?”

“No they’re fine, they just seem like a lot of work. I’ll probably have one someday.” She tried to picture it: propped up in a London hospital bed next her husband, tears of joy brimming as they softly kissed over a sleeping bundle in her arms. She felt a little panicky.

“I’d like to, also. Someday.” He offered her the bread basket before selecting one for himself.

Angelica wanted to steer the conversation away from building their future families. “So, what’s on your mind, Aaron? I assume there was a reason you wanted to talk to me.”

He cleared his throat, diving into a speech that started out sounding a little rehearsed. “Right. Yes. I was hoping for some unbiased advice. I thought of you as a neutral party that doesn’t have a vested interest or opinion in the outcome. There isn’t really anyone else… anyway, I was hoping that buying you dinner in return would express my appreciation for your time.”  He smiled, uncertainly.

“Well, color me intrigued. What’s the problem?”

“A few days ago I got a call from a director about a show that would begin casting in a few months.”

“And you want to jump ship from _Benedict?_ ”

He looked surprised at the directness of the question. “That was never -- _Benedict_ was my dream job, and it’s going to be incredible. But history seems to be repeating itself in some ways, so I’m looking at all of the options.”

“What history? Thank you.” The waiter had arrived with their wine. They ordered dinner -- well, if he was buying then she was getting the steak -- and Burr seemed to have forgotten her question as soon as they were alone again.

“So, this director has been working with a playwright to rework the premise of _The Tempest_ from the slave’s point of view.”

Angelica frowned. “That’s not one of the ones I’m super familiar with.”

“In the original play, Caliban is defined entirely by his identity as a slave…he’s animalistic, inhuman. The best you can say for him is that he’s pitiable. There’s some indication toward the end that he’s human after all, but...” He shrugged, making a face.

“Hmm. Yeah, I don’t know that I need to sit through a show that takes two hours to prove that enslaved people are human.”

“Right.” Burr took a sip of the wine. There are some problematic elements. It was a different time, but... Lee was insistent that he wanted to try it from a new angle, and I’m interested. But I don’t fully trust him to tell the story, not in the way I trust Washington.”  

“So what’s left to decide?”

“I’d need to see a final version of the script. I also have concerns that the only reason Lee called me was to stick it to Washington. Without a name attached to this production -- even one as modest as mine -- it won’t get financing.”

“Oh come now Burr, let’s not define you by your modesty. Tell me more about your trust fund?” She blinked innocently.

Burr sighed. “I am never going to live that down.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“So this is my dilemma right now,” he continued. “I’m not sure Lee has the artistic ability to make this show what it needs to be. Beyond that, I’m not even sure he wants to try, or if this is all about jealousy of Washington.”

“But on the other hand, if his intentions are pure and if he’s able to pull it off, it would be a much better opportunity for you.”

Burr nodded.

Angelica let her gaze drift out into the restaurant. Couples were laughing, chatting, sitting in silence. “I don’t know that I’m the right person to give you any advice, if I’m being honest. I talk a big game but I pretty much always choose the safe route. Minimize risk… minimize failure. And reward, incidentally.” She looked back at him. “So I’d encourage you to go for it, but I would personally just stay put.”

“You take risks sometimes. You moved to London. You agreed to a date with me--”

“What? This isn’t a date.”

“No, of course not.” He agreed readily, toying with his wine glass.

There was a pause.

“You know I’m married.”

“Of course.” He was almost smiling.

“Burr.”

“I appreciate your advice. I’ll take it under advisement -- I’ve often also chosen to wait and see how things play out.”

Angelica wasn’t sure that they were back to talking about the show. She decided to take control of the conversation again.

“I can also see if Eliza’s heard anything about it; she tends to be pretty dialed into your industry gossip. Maybe she’ll have a better sense if it’s going to turn out the way you want?”

“That would be helpful. We could meet up again to discuss it.” Burr had a definite twinkle in his eye now, and Angelica almost laughed, despite herself.

“We’ll see.”

He leaned back as the waiter approached with their dinners. “Yes, we will. And _if_ that happens, it’ll be my treat, of course -- I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I have a very large trust fund.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Benedict _betrays our notions of America’s most notorious traitor -- the musical suggests that history might have had a different outcome if Benedict Arnold’s country had first stayed faithful to him. Alexander Hamilton explodes on stage as the boorish Arnold, but manages to toe the line of the audience’s sympathies as he woos his rival’s erstwhile lover away. Elizabeth Schuyler plays Peggy Shippen to perfection as Peggy plays the two men in her life like a fiddle. And as we have come to expect, George Washington’s directorial precision keeps the action sizzling and the company jumping._

 _The real story is the triumphant return of_ Dianetics: Real Science _’s Thomas Jefferson after seven years in London’s West End. His turn as alluring Loyalist John André leads this American audience in rooting for the British even as we curse Benedict Arnold’s defection. (Oh, and if we were Peggy -- we would have chosen André instead.)"_

Alex looked up from his laptop, deadpan. “I’d be insulted, but I really can’t disagree.”

He was lounging in Jefferson’s dressing room while he got dressed for the night’s show. After a whirlwind of a preview and two weeks after the off-Broadway premiere, The _New York Times_ had chosen _Benedict_ for its Critics’ Pick. Alex had taken it upon himself to read the review out loud as Jefferson and Madison assembled his costume.

Jefferson looked up from pulling on a boot, an eyebrow raised. Madison paused mid-stitch, working on closing a seam that had come loose on André’s red coat.  Alex continued.

“Backstory, plot, yada yada _…_ ” Alex peered at the screen. “... _'their climactic negotiation showcases some of the best chemistry between such a tragic duo since_ Romeo and Juliet…'” He frowned. “Does that make me Juliet?”

“Let’s hope not.” Jefferson brushed some lint off his shirt.

“So, on a scale of ‘one’ to ‘suicide by poison’, the _Times_ thinks our chemistry is off the charts. How would you rate it, Thomas?” He gazed at him innocently.

Madison cleared his throat and tied off the thread quickly. “Okay, all set. I’m going to go see if… I think Eliza needed…” He didn’t bother finishing his excuse as he hurried through the door, shutting it behind him.

“Subtle.”

Alex closed the laptop. “I’ve been called many things, but that has never been one of them.”

“You can when you want to be.”

“My mother used to call me her little hurricane. Apparently I wasn’t very good at sitting still and staying out of sight.”

“You? No…”

“Quiet.” Alex grinned at him, stretching out along the couch. Jefferson meticulously hung up the coat that Madison had practically thrown at him on his way out the door.

“You don’t talk about her much.”

Alex’s smile slipped a notch. “My mother? There isn’t much to talk about. She’s been gone for so long. It’s funny, though… the first day I came here to meet Washington, I had this image of her flash into my head. I don’t believe in the afterlife or anything like that, I’m not religious, but… for some reason it felt like she was giving me a sign. Is that stupid? That’s stupid.”

Jefferson turned to face him. “I can’t say if it was a sign or not. But then again, here you are.”  

A tinny voice crackled over the backstage loudspeaker, declaring a ten minute warning til curtain.

Alex took him in, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah. Here I am. Right here with you, looking all alluring and whatnot.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be in costume?”

“Probably. Although, I’ll need to get undressed first.” He slowly reached down and flicked open the button on his jeans.

Jefferson gave him a once-over, inscrutably, and glanced back toward the door. “That’s not locked.”

Alex shrugged and stood up, purposefully pulling his shirt over his head. Jefferson crossed the room in two strides, and grabbed his wrists as he started to reach for his zipper. He leaned in, lips brushing his ear, and murmured, “Tease. I need more than ten minutes for what I want to do to you right now.”

Alex swallowed. “Then hold that thought until after--”

Jefferson stopped him with the kiss, which rapidly evolved into a promise for something more involved than what time allowed. He made quick work of removing his pants, and Alex was pushed back down onto the couch. He reached out to steady himself, clutching at Jefferson’s billowy André shirt. Jefferson pulled back just far enough to state, “don’t wrinkle it. Madison will kill me.”

Alex glowered at him. “Can we not talk about Madison right now?”

Jefferson smirked, lowering his full weight on top of him, and moved his hips deliberately. Alex’s breath caught in his throat and he felt himself arching up to meet him.  Jefferson had a hand placed on either side of his face now, his tongue doing filthy things to Alex’s mouth, and he was continuing to move his hips in such a way that Alex tore his head away to gasp, “Madison’s going to have more to worry about on your costume than wrinkles if you keep that up.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about Madison.”

_“Five minute warning.”_

Jefferson growled in frustration, then softened the kiss and rolled to his side, giving Alex a chance to catch his breath.

“Where did that come from?”

“You started it, with your little strip tease.”

“I was changing. For work.”

“In my dressing room.”

“Anyone could have walked in, and you need to be on stage in four minutes --”

“I’m sorry, I won’t touch you from now on.” Jefferson was shaking his head, amused.

“God no, that’s so not what I’m saying, never don’t do that. I’m just trying to figure you out. You don’t exactly… I don’t know, say what you’re thinking. Ever.”

“Unlike you?” He placed a hand on Alex’s chest and looked him in the eye, all traces of humor gone. “I thought instead, I’d _show_ you what I was thinking, since that usually resonates with you. Don’t you know what you do to me?”

Alex’s gaze skimmed all over his face, trying to take in everything at once. “Your face is my favorite,” he whispered.

Thomas smiled, pressing his forehead against Alex’s. “You drive me crazy.” He drew in a breath. “Alexander… I lo--”

They didn’t have time to register the brief knock on the door before it opened, causing Jefferson to jump up and Alex to scramble for something to cover himself. “What the _hell,_ don’t you knock--”

Laurens was standing there, impassive. “Washington was looking for you.  You weren’t in your dressing room.”

_“One minute. One minute til curtain.”_

The three of them stood there for a beat. Jefferson finally moved first, tossing a pensive look at Alex before grabbing his coat and pushing past Laurens into the hallway. Alex took a step forward, and stopped.

“Is it urgent, John? I still have to, uh...” He self-consciously reached for Arnold’s pants, painfully aware that he was currently standing there in his boxer briefs and nothing else.

Laurens closed his eyes for just longer than a blink, and shook his head. “Just talk to him after the show. I need to get to the booth.” He disappeared, leaving Alex to methodically finish dressing as the opening chords of the first number sounded.

 

********************

 

John nearly ran straight into Burr, waiting in the wings. “Sorry,” he muttered, not seeing the contemplative look he gave him. He slid into his seat in the booth and opened his book, calling out the first cue to start the show.  The excitement in the room bubbled up and slid off him like rain on a windshield. He dispassionately watched Jefferson saunter out from stage right to raucous applause.

“Standby, light cue two. Go.” The light reflected off Jefferson in a way that made his dark skin glow.

“Standby, sound cue A. Go.”  The gentle noise emerged in a way that underscored Jefferson’s celestial voice.

John did his job, and Jefferson shone.

When intermission came, he tore off his headset and rubbed his eyes. He was sick of feeling this way. As he removed his hands, he realized Burr was standing next to him, uncertainly. He smiled, to put him at ease.

“Hey. Sorry about running you down earlier.”

“Not a problem. Mind if I sit with you for a moment?”

“Of course… It’s a free theater.” John gestured to the seat next to him and sighed.  “Actually, it’s really not, we pay a significant amount in rent and I’m not sure these ticket prices are going to cover our expenses, particularly if we get picked up for Broadway which is looking more and more likely--”

“John?”

He clamped his mouth shut. “Sorry. It’s already been a night.”

“I thought so. I saw Jefferson run by, followed shortly by you, looking like you wanted to kill someone, and finally Hamilton, looking… well, pretty normal, for him. Like he’s about to spin off into orbit. And I put some pieces together and thought you might need someone to talk to.”

“Wow. Um, thanks.” John had seen a different side of Burr during the Valhalla night, and he felt a little more kindly toward him these days. “There really isn’t anything to talk about though.  Someone I’m not seeing anymore is apparently seeing someone else. It’s not that much of a story.” He hadn’t had it confirmed in such a graphic way until tonight, but in some ways he had wanted to erase plausible deniability. That was why he hadn’t waited for a response before walking into Jefferson’s dressing room. He needed to know.

“Still, that doesn’t make it easy. This situation is untenable, John.”

“What is?”

“Hamilton and Jefferson think they’re being discreet, but pretty soon everyone is going to find out. And there’s too much history here to think it’s not going to affect the equilibrium.”

John eyed him. “We’re adults. We can handle it.”

“Right. Of course, there's handling it, and then there’s... handling it.”

John opened his mouth, then shut it again, confused. “Are you going to... kill Hamilton?”

Burr laughed. “Not today. I was thinking of a slightly less dramatic solution. Maybe not all of us will make it to _Benedict_ on Broadway… There are other shows out there. And you could consider other options, too.”

“This is where I want to be.” John looked down at his book, sticky notes jutting out, cues highlighted, meticulously noted and organized in the exact way Washington had called for. When Washington considered opening up the casting to white principal actors, he passionately resisted, and Washington eventually agreed. This was his show. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Good for you. You’ve worked hard, and we wouldn’t be here today without your input.”

John smiled. “Thanks. Your, um, General Clinton is also really--”

Burr shook his head. “It’s okay, you don’t need to do that. I don’t plan on staying as General Clinton for long. Anyway, I think it’s just about time for the second act, no?” Burr smiled back at him and headed backstage.

John slowly put his headset back on and called to dim the house lights.

 

******************

 

 _“Salut, l’ami._ ” Jefferson smiled down at Angelica. She had saved seats for them on a leather couch in the corner of a dimly lit bar uptown. It was quiet here. He had chosen it so they could talk.

She grinned up at the sound of his voice, automatically reaching for the glass of wine he handed her, then pressed her lips together, trying to hold on to her righteous anger. It wasn’t working. She was so damn glad to see him. She stood up and pulled him into a hug, and he wrapped his arms around her in turn. He still smelled good, even after three hours of sweating under stage lights. It wasn’t fair.

“So. What’s the story?” Jefferson sank onto the couch next to her.

She snorted. “Uh... _my_ story? Why have you been blowing me off for months, you asshole?”

He ignored the provocation. “More importantly, why have you been in New York for months? Aren’t you supposed to be in London?”

She meant to snap back at him, but instead, the words came tumbling out that she had been holding in ever since she got on the plane. “I think my marriage is over.”

Jefferson’s expression did not register the astonishment that she might have thought that declaration would elicit. She continued as though it did.

“We’re just not right for each other, okay?  He’s so sweet. And he works hard. But… he doesn’t make me laugh. We don’t ever argue. We just… exist. I thought that could be enough.” She shakily exhaled and shook her head.

His lips tightened. “You want someone who challenges you. I can... understand that.”

“I’m a terrible person. What, I want to fight with someone all the time? Then I’d just have something else to complain about.” She buried her face in her hands. “Thomas, where have you _been?”_

His sympathetic expression shifted into the mask that he wore when he was trying to hide his thoughts. “Uh, _Benedict_ , remember?”

“Don’t bullshit me. I see Eliza all the time.”

“You live in her apartment.”

“I’ve even managed to see… other members of the cast…” She bit her lip.

He looked at her sharply. “Like who?”

“None of your damn business. If you can keep secrets then so can I.” She glared back at him, standing firm at the impasse.

He sighed, conceding defeat. “I’ve been seeing someone, too. We’re just... keeping it quiet, since we work together.”

Her jaw dropped. _“You_ have a boyfriend? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Why do you think I’m this celibate--”

“Who is it? Oh god if it’s the same guy I’m seeing I’m going to throw up. Not that I’m _seeing_ him, exactly… I don’t know what we’re doing. Honestly it’s a little hard to tell if he’s even flirting...” She frowned.

“I don’t think it’s the same person.” He was avoiding her eyes now.

“Is _your_ boyfriend possibly leaving the show?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Who’s leaving the show?”

“Look, the guy I’m not seeing says there’s another play that’s about to start casting, and I asked Eliza about it. She checked into it and apparently it’s going to be pretty good. Maybe you should think about that if you’re having trouble balancing romance and work.”

“What show?”

“I think it’s called _Caliban?”_

Jefferson nodded. “I’ve heard of that. Charles Lee is directing it… he doesn’t have the best reputation.”

She shrugged. “All I know is Eliza says he’s pretty gung-ho to compete with Washington, so I think he’s going to do whatever it takes to make it as good as _Benedict_.”

“Maybe the guy you’re not seeing should do it, then.” He paused, and she saw him doing some quick calculations in his head. “Wait. It’s not Burr. Is it?”

She took a long sip of her wine.

 _“Mon Dieu_. Angelica.”

“I _told_ you, it’s all very confusing. I’m not even officially separated, so we’re not… he just… makes me laugh, for some reason. Ugh.” She turned on him. “So your turn, spill. Who is it? Do I know him?’

He paused for a moment. “Yes.”

She frowned. “Hm. I can’t remember everyone in the cast… Eliza took me backstage the night I came to see the show, and she introduced me to a lot of people. But not everyone stuck around that night… you actually weren’t there. Or Hamilton, thankfully.”

This time, he deliberately picked up his glass, and met her eyes.

“No.”

“I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh my God, that’s why you’ve been avoiding me. You knew how heinous this was--”

He frowned again. “Well, that’s not exactly how I would characterize--”

“How _could_ you?”

“How could I want to be with someone who challenges me and makes me laugh?” He said pointedly.

Furious, she felt her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, he’s a challenge, all right. I told you what he did. He’s a degenerate and cheater, and he’ll do it to you too--”

“Maybe you should talk to your own boyfriend about that,” he tossed out, gripping his glass so hard she thought it might shatter.

“I _have_ , as a matter of fact, I know about all of it. He knows what he did was wrong. He even apologized. Alex will never take accountability for what he does to other people--”

“The way he sees it, you abandoned him.”

_"What?"_

“You were close friends. He hasn’t gone into detail but it sounds like he confided in you. He trusted you. And you cut him out.”

Angelica laughed, harshly. “That’s rich. He just expected everything to stay the same, after…?”

“I didn’t say that. He doesn’t blame you, but he could have used a friend. And I know from personal experience that you’re a good one to have around.”

This time, the tears were close to spilling over. “You’re a manipulative bastard.”

“I know.”

“You’re perfect for each other.”

“I’d like to think so.” Jefferson said softly.

Angelica took a breath, and in that moment she saw it. He was lost in thought, his eyes soft, unfocused, gazing into his wine glass. A small smile played around the corners of his mouth. She knew that look. She had just never seen it on his face before. She swallowed hard and looked away, speaking calmly.

“You know I want you to be happy, Thomas. I do. I just know the whirlwind of Alexander Hamilton too well, and I can’t bear someone else I care about getting hurt by him.”

“I appreciate that. For the record… I know Aaron Burr pretty well, too, and I would be remiss if I didn’t give you the same warning.”

She nodded, laughing as she swiped her finger under one eye and inspected it for running mascara. “Well, I guess we’ll see who gets crushed first.” She lifted her glass. “So… to the pursuit of happiness?”

 

*********************

 

Alex slowly changed back into his street clothes while the hustle died down backstage, as people finished up their post-show duties and went home. Jefferson had gone to meet Angelica, and he was trying not to think about it.

Unbidden, his imagination supplied the image of Angelica pulling down a projection screen and detailing a PowerPoint presentation of all the reasons Jefferson should run as far away from Alex as possible. He pictured Jefferson nodding, peering at the slides from behind his glasses, taking meticulous notes. He would be running his hand through his hair like he did when he got upset.

He imagined him hugging Angelica, grateful for her common sense slapping him back into reality, and pulling out his phone to send the break-up text. It would be direct, possibly echoing their first conversation at the audition. He would start by saying that he should have trusted his instincts. He’d remind Alex that he just floated through life, that he couldn’t possibly understand true loyalty because he didn’t have roots. Having spent a significant amount of time with him now, Alex’s manic energy was clearly too much to be around. He needed to find someone more stable. Calmer. He needed to be with someone who actually had a family that he could come meet for Thanksgiving dinner.

Across the room, his phone dinged, and he started, staring at it in disbelief. He scrambled over to check the screen, heart in his throat, and saw that it was a news alert from his CNN app that four people had died downtown in a horrific crane accident. _Thank God._

He shoved the device in his pocket and stopped in the bathroom to splash some water on his face before making his way down to the green room to see why Washington had summoned him. The door was open, and he knocked lightly on it.

“Sir? You asked to see me?”

Washington was seated, seemingly lost in thought.

“Sir?”

“Alexander -- come in. Sorry. Great show tonight.”

“Thanks.” He sat, his own disparate thoughts scattering through his mind.

“I’m going to make this announcement at tomorrow’s meeting, but I wanted you to know first -- we’re going to Broadway.” Washington’s stoicism cracked as he broke into a grin.

“You’re kidding.” Alex laughed in disbelief, and jumped out of his chair. _Broadway._ He had been working toward this for so long. “Can I hug you?”

“No.”

Alex nodded and sank back down, unfazed.

“There’s just a few final T’s to cross. I’ve been speaking with potential investors, and I think I’ve found someone who’s willing to put up the capital to take this show to the next level. The concern, of course, is that he’s already expressed an interest in creative input--”

“Do it.” Alex interrupted. “Take the deal. We can negotiate on the details later, this is what we’ve been waiting for.” He pushed down a sense of misgiving in anticipating Jefferson’s reaction to this news. He’d come around.

Washington smiled. “I thought you might say that. I hope you know how much I’ve valued your input this year, Alexander… I don’t think we’d be where we are today if you hadn’t been so persistent in expressing your opinions. But you’ll never hear me say that again.” He winked at him. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Alex sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. It had been almost two decades since anyone had called him that, and it felt like a punch to his gut.

 

_Thud-thud. Thud-thud._

_Alex sat wedged between two branches in the tree, his heels knocking against the trunk. Somewhere, someone was shouting._

_Thud-thud. Thud-thud._

_The sky was blue and cloudless. A warm breeze rustled the leaves next to him, and he closed his eyes, imagining the sound was the waves crashing in the ocean._

_“...don’t know why you even come here, it’s not like you have any interest in getting to know your son--”_

_“I know my son!”_

_“Oh really? Name one thing he likes. For Christ’s sake, what’s his favorite color?”_

_“Green.” Alex whispered, looking down at his favorite striped shirt._

_“Blue?”_

_“Get out.”_

_“Oh who the fuck cares what his favorite--”_

_“Every time you leave I have to do my best to convince him it’s not his fault his father finds it so easy to abandon him--”_

_“Don’t be dramatic. Come on baby, I came all the way here, why don’t we…”_

_Thud-thud. Alex was a pirate on watch, sitting up on the crow’s nest of his ship to scout out dangers lurking in the sea. He knew they were out there. A sailor needs to keep his wits about him._

_“Get OUT!”_

_A door slammed. “Alexander? Where are you? I’m heading out for a while. Come say goodbye, son.”_

_Alex could see him standing in the yard, shielding his eyes from the sun. He pulled his legs up into his chest, not moving. He held his breath for as long as he could. Mommy said he could never be as still as the eye of a hurricane. She didn’t know he could be when he wanted to._

_“Well, I can’t stand here all day. Tell him I’ll be back.”_

_He could see her through the leaves, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. She turned her head as he tried to kiss her. Yuck, Alex thought._

_The gate slammed shut behind him as he started walking back toward town. He didn’t have a car; someone always gave him a ride wherever he was headed. Alex covered one eye and squinted out into the distance, a sliver of ocean just visible on the horizon. He and Mommy were going to sail away someday._

_Say goodbye, son…_

 

Alex opened his eyes. Washington was looking at him in concern now, and it was clear he had asked him a question. He stood up, letting words fall out about how excited he was, and how he couldn’t wait for the rest of the company to hear the news. Washington called after him as he left the room, but he didn’t turn back.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing Jefferson as he started walking aimlessly through the streets.

“Hey, you.”  

Alex felt his heart rate slow as soon as he heard his voice. “Hey, yourself. How was it?”

“Just fine. You can stop panicking.”

“I’m not--”

“You were. But it’s all good. I think we should all get together next time. Although we might need to invite Angelica’s boyfriend...you’ll never guess who she’s dating.”

Alex frowned. “But... she’s married.”

“In the legal sense. Anyway, it’s _Aaron Burr.”_

Alex’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

He chuckled, the low sound wrapping around Alex like a blanket. “I wish. So did you talk to Washington?”

“Yeah. Just... standard stuff, mostly chatting.”

“Did he say why he’s calling a meeting tomorrow morning?”

Alex paused. He didn’t want to fight. Not tonight. “Uh, no, not really. Probably just checking in after the review, and everything…”

“Okay. Well, I’m glad he sent Laurens to make sure you were available to chat.” He yawned. “Mmm… it’s late.  I’m going to get some sleep… see you in the morning?”

“Of course.” Alex turned east, toward home.

“Hey… I missed you tonight.”

Alex swallowed hard, smiling. “Goodnight, Thomas.” A late autumn breeze whistled in and out between the buildings. If he closed his eyes, it almost sounded like waves crashing.


	8. Chapter 8

John looked up as Eliza paused in front of the door to the booth, scrunching up her nose at him. “Hey. Do you have any idea what this meeting is about?”

He shrugged, and stood up to join her. “No, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Maybe we’re all getting fired.”

“In that case, can I move in with you? My rent’s due tomorrow.”

She pretended to consider it. “Sure, but you’ll have to bunk with Angelica; it’s getting a little crowded at my place.”

“As long she doesn’t mind being the big spoon,” John replied solemnly.

Eliza grinned, and she followed him down the stairs to the green room. Only about half the company was there so far. No sign of Washington, and of course Hamilton was late. Jefferson was already seated, so she made her way over to an empty seat next to him. He looked up in surprise, but hid it well.

“Good morning.”

“Hello, Thomas. How was your night?”

“It was good, as I’m sure you’ve heard.” He didn’t seem to acknowledge John, who had taken the seat on her other side. John ignored him as well.

“I did. I haven’t seen Angelica this happy in a long time.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m the one who’s making her that happy.”

“No, I guess not... I’m still trying to wrap my head around that.”

“You and I both.” He agreed.

“But then again, you’re happy too, aren’t you?” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “For the record, Angelica didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”

“I know I’m not a part of these conversations but I never know what the hell you two are saying to each other.” John finally muttered.

Eliza turned to him. “Angelica is apparently dating Aaron Burr. And Thomas here is screwing our Alexander.”

Jefferson closed his eyes, John swore softly, and Hamilton strolled into the room.

 

*******************

 

Aaron had entered the room unnoticed, and saw that the closest unoccupied seat was next to Jefferson. Ordinarily it wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he wanted to talk to him anyway. If this meeting was about what he suspected it was, Jefferson would want to hear what he had to say.

Jefferson and Eliza were facing Laurens, their backs to the door. He slid into the seat just in time to catch Eliza’s declaration, and Laurens met his eyes, cursing apologetically. Eliza looked over her shoulder at him and shrugged.

“Thanks for that.” Aaron said, unruffled. He was much better about keeping his dalliances quiet than Hamilton ever was, but he felt a small glow that Angelica had apparently felt there was something to mention it to Eliza. He blinked, re-focusing on getting Jefferson’s attention, when Hamilton sauntered into the room and did a once-over of the occupants. There were only a handful of available seats left, and after a quick wink at Jefferson, he found one on the other side of the room.

Eliza leaned in to whisper something to Laurens, and he dropped his head to the table, laughing. Jefferson started to rise, eyes on Hamilton, but Aaron put one hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I need to talk to you when this is over.”

“About what?”

“About Lee’s show.”

Jefferson shot him a confused look, and Washington called out, “Okay, thanks everyone for being here. I know it’s a little early on a Sunday, so I’ll make this brief.” He paused for effect. “Due to your tireless work and dedication, and some help from our friends… _Benedict_ is heading to Broadway.”

 _“Whaaaat?”_ Jefferson murmured, as the room exploded in cheers. Aaron glanced at him, then followed his gaze to Hamilton across the room. He was smiling, but he was looking back at Jefferson, nervous.

“How did that happen, _General?”_ Jefferson’s voice rang out, silencing the din. Faces turned toward him, surprised. “Last we heard, we weren’t even close to getting the financing we needed for a Broadway run.”

Hamilton cut in before Washington could respond. “We’ve gotten some good reviews since then. More people are willing to back us.”

“What people?” He was now addressing Hamilton.

“An angel investor is the way to go on this, Thomas. He has the capital and knows how to get us where we need--”

“And what does he want in return? He’ll _own_ us.”

The room was quiet now. Hamilton's voice was calm, the words seemingly rehearsed.

“Your way isn’t realistic, Thomas. We tried courting smaller backers, you know that, it just wasn’t enough.”

“So putting aside his veto power on creative decisions, how does Mr. Angel recommend that we cover our costs to pay him back? Increased ticket prices?”

Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. “You know that’s standard--”

“Create buzz by courting celebrity interest with free tickets? Getting them to tweet about it, Snapchat it, turn it into the show for the one percent?”

“And what’s so wrong with that?” Hamilton’s voice was raising.

 _“Because this show is good enough without all that!_ Because as soon as you open that floodgate, the people who _should_ see it will be drowned out in the noise. People who never could have imagined that opportunities like this exist for them in the arts--”

"Thomas, they can only see a show that’s actually _running._ If we don’t get the financing, there’s nothing for anyone -- celebrities or otherwise -- to _see.”_ Hamilton glared back at him. "What is your problem with--"

“Did you know?” Jefferson’s voice dropped. He seemed to have forgotten there were several dozen spectators to this conversation. “Is this what you and Washington talked about?” A few people looked sideways at each other, whispering. Aaron sat silently, unmoving.

Hamilton crossed his arms, defiant. Jefferson chuckled mirthlessly.

Washington raised a hand. “Alright, that’s enough. I hope that we can move forward together, and see this as the good news that it is. If you have any further questions or concerns, you can bring them to me.”

“I quit.” Jefferson stared at Hamilton.

This time, there were gasps, and Aaron leaned back in his chair, glancing over at Eliza. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and met his eyes, impassive.

“That’s all for today, everyone. You four -- a word.” Washington’s tone left no room for argument, and he pointed at Aaron’s table. The company slowly disbanded, reluctant to leave in the middle of the argument. Laurens stood up to join Washington in the middle of the room, uncertainly. Jefferson, Aaron, and Eliza remained seated at their table. Hamilton didn’t move.

“Thomas--”

“I would like to tender my resignation. I won’t be a part of a production that claims to be about the best of American ideals but sells out to the highest bidder.”

“You are so _shortsighted--”_ Hamilton burst out.

“Alexander, that’s enough. Thomas, I hope that after you’ve had some time to digest this news, you’ll reconsider.”

“I won’t.”

“Thomas, think about this.” Hamilton was clearly trying to keep a handle on his temper. “Think about the long-term impact of this show, the opportunities it will create for actors of color in New York, or other cities.  If we can keep this going… _Benedict_ could be in high schools, community theaters, reaching everyone you wanted it to. It could inspire someone else to create something even bigger. Didn’t you dream of being a part of something like this when you were a kid? Could you even imagine it?”

Thomas shook his head, immovable. “There are other parts. I signed on thinking that the plan for this show was to build something together, and that Broadway was for everyone. These backroom deals are the reason I left New York in the first place; I won’t be a part of it again.” Aaron shifted uncomfortably.

Washington sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that. Truly. But if your decision is final… Burr, I’m going to need you to step in as André. You know the part?”

Aaron could hardly believe it. After waiting for this moment for so long, click-boom --  it happened. “Yes.”

“You and Eliza should start practicing together as soon as possible.” Washington waited for Eliza's nod, then motioned for Laurens to follow him as he strode out of the room.

“So you’re quitting.  Just like that.” Hamilton’s eyes sparkled with fury, zeroing in on Jefferson.

“Your powers of observation are stunning.”

“And what are you going to do instead?”

Jefferson turned to Aaron abruptly, startling him. “You were saying something about _Caliban?”_

 _“What?_ You can’t be serious.” Hamilton stood up, gripping the table. “You wouldn’t. I told you how Lee treated me--”  
  
“I’ve taken a meeting with him.”

“You… what? When?” He looked lost. Aaron almost felt bad for him, but stayed quiet.

“I wanted to hear him out, see if this show had any potential. And you know what? It does. He doesn’t want to make the mistakes that Washington is making. So I guess it turns out we’ve both been keeping secrets from each other.” Jefferson’s tone was cool, his expression neutral. He stood up.

“If it’s that easy for you to leave, then just leave. We’re done.” Hamilton was taking shorter breaths now, and Jefferson’s facade cracked a bit.

“Alex…”

“If you don’t understand by now, Thomas -- just get out,“ he spat furiously. “Go tell another story with an all white cast and a Black man playing a slave. I look forward to seeing how you and Lee will _change the world.”_

Eliza groaned quietly, and Aaron cleared his throat. “Alexander, maybe we should--”

 _"Stay out of this_ , Burr. _Now_ you want to get involved?”

Jefferson ignored the exchange as his expression hardened. “You have no right to tell me what roles I should and should not take, as a Black man or otherwise. You don’t get to make my decisions.”

“I’m not making your decisions, I’m trying to get you to see _reason._ But if nothing I’ve said to you in all the time we’ve... then we have nothing left to say to each other.” Hamilton released his grip on the table to cross his arms, thrumming with tension.

Jefferson ran a hand through his hair, and smoothed his shirt. He looked at Eliza, who had tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. “Please thank the Schuyler Foundation for supporting _Caliban._ I heard that it wouldn’t be possible without their contribution.”  He left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Hamilton stared at Eliza, looking like his last thread was close to snapping. “Did you know? Did you have something to do with this?” He looked at Aaron and back to her again.

She met his gaze, calmly. “Angelica asked me to, as a favor. I initially thought she wanted to help Burr get Caliban, but…”

 

 _“I’ve always wanted to be a part of_ Benedict. _” Aaron told Lee. The night was unseasonably warm. They were seated near the shuttered cafe in the rooftop garden of the Met with Angelica and Eliza, the New York skyline illuminated beyond them._

_“Yeah, Washington is God’s gift to Broadway alright.” Lee shoved a fistful of peanuts in his mouth._

_Burr cleared his throat and tried again. “I admire his work. But_ Caliban _could be special, too.”_

_Lee nodded. “Special, right. You think we could compete with Washington? The preview seemed like it lived up to the hype, but y’all are on the inside so you’d know.”_

_“I think it’s more about diversifying the options available for theatre-goers in Manhattan,” Eliza cut in smoothly._

_“Diversity’s the buzzword, right? That’s why I chose this one. Black guy as the lead, it’s perfect.”_

_Angelica sighed loudly, shooting Aaron a look. He reached over to take her hand, rubbing his thumb over her palm. There was no one else on the roof; the cafe in the garden was closed for the evening. Eliza and Angelica decided it would be a fitting place for a private meeting, so Angelica had called in a favor. She started to regret it when Lee began rummaging around behind the bar for snacks._

_“Uh… okay. So, I understand you’ve been reaching out to other actors?”_

_“Yeah, no offense, Burr. Just covering my bases.”_

_“None taken. I assume you’ve spoken with Hamilton?”_

_“Ha!” Lee bellowed, digging his stubby fingers back into the peanuts. “You couldn’t pay me enough to convince me to spend another day with that arrogant, irritable pissant--”_

_“Didn’t_ Julian Kaiser and Bruno _close the week after he left?”_

_“Yeah, so what.” Lee muttered. “Alright fine, I called him. He hung up on me.”_

_“What about Thomas Jefferson?” Eliza interjected._

_Angelica shifted uncomfortably. She had been hesitant about this meeting all day, since she had met with Jefferson the night before. She told Aaron that she hadn’t been very forthcoming about their plan to meet with Lee, and she felt guilty about it._

_“We talked,” Lee grunted. “I sent him the script, and we went over some of the details. He’s awfully particular about production though; I don’t want another goddamned Hamilton on my hands.”_

_“If you’re smart, you’ll snatch him up. He’s straight Tony-bait. But he won’t do it unless you fund_ Caliban _independently. His moral stance on making sure theatre is accessible to the people is pretty firm.” Eliza shrugged._

_“Whatever.” Lee rolled his eyes. “I don’t care who’s accessing it, I just don’t think I’m going to be able to raise the kind of cash that Washington can get. That means it won’t be on the same level, and this is all pointless.”_

_“I might be able to help with that.” Eliza leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “My last name is Schuyler.”_

_“Schuyler? Of the Schuyler Foundation?” Lee leered at her, focused for the first time. “So what are you offering?”_

_“If you can convince Thomas Jefferson to join your cast, we can make sure you have the capital to put on the kind of production you want.”  Angelica was now gripping Aaron’s hand harder than he thought possible. He tried to flex it to give her a hint, but she was focused on Eliza._

_“Fine by me. I guess we’ll see how it goes. Anyway, I gotta get home to the missus. Not looking forward to a bitch-fest about how late I am again.” He half-heartedly brushed some crumbs off his shirt, and headed out with another word._

_Eliza watched him leave. “What a charmer.”_

_Angelica sighed, and released Aaron’s hand. He whimpered a little in relief. “So what if Thomas doesn’t want to do this? You’ve made up your mind to stay with_ Benedict?”

 _He nodded. “As I said from the beginning, that’s where I’ve always wanted to be._   _The only way for that to happen now is for Hamilton or Jefferson to resign… and Hamilton won’t work with Lee again.”_

_Angelica bit her lip and looked at Eliza. “Does Hamilton know? He and Thomas...” She trailed off._

_“He’ll find out soon enough.”_

 

Hamilton was shaking his head. “You set it all up. Both of you.”

“Wait--” Aaron interjected.

“Yes.” Eliza stated simultaneously.

“Just to screw me over.”

“I did it for _Angelica,_ you narcissist,” Eliza hissed. “For the people she _cares_ about. And, by the by, for the show. We don’t need a lead who doesn’t want to be here.”

Hamilton pushed back his chair with his heel so abruptly, it tumbled over, the noise echoing as he strode out of the room.

 

*********************

 

“Well, that could have gone better.” Washington sighed.  John was walking quickly, trying to keep up with his long stride. He stopped abruptly outside the booth, and John nearly ran into him. “Do you have a moment, John?”

“Uh, of course.”

They entered the booth and sat down, Washington seemingly lost in thought. John waited.

“Did I ever tell you why I didn’t cast Aaron Burr as Arnold or André to begin with?”

John felt his eyes widen. “No, sir.”

“His agent was persistent in getting him in the door, and he’s certainly qualified. I considered it seriously, before I met Hamilton. And he’ll do a fine job as André now that he has the part. But… it frustrates me that he stays quiet even when he has something to say.”

“Hamilton does not do that,” John muttered under his breath.

“No, he certainly doesn’t,” Washington concurred. “And in an entirely different way, neither does Jefferson. He’s often disagreed with me on directorial decisions, but his objections are fair. And I’ve been forced to stop and think about each of them, and decide what’s really best. Our disagreements have made the show better.”

“He’s super.” John thought he would rather be watching the fight in the green room.

Washington gave him a side-eye look. “I’m not that blind, or that old, John. I know what’s been going on with Hamilton and Jefferson, and I know a little bit of where you fit into that.”

John felt his face growing warm.

“My interest is the show. Hamilton and Jefferson challenge each other, and me, to raise the game. Burr will do an excellent job in the role. But he’ll leave it exactly as he found it.”

“Sir… Why are you telling me this?”

Washington sighed. “Because, John -- you, above everyone else -- have helped me to find this show’s voice. I’m going to need you more than ever during these next few months, to help me make sure we don't lose it. I just wanted you to know that.”  He stood up, nodding at him, and exited the booth.

John sat there for a moment, processing the events of the morning, and then pulled out his phone.

 

Laurens: Brunch?

Lafayette: You know the way to my heart. The usual? 11:00?

 

John smiled and sent a thumbs-up. He paused by the green room door on his way out, but decided to keep walking. He didn’t want to get sucked back into the drama. It was a beautiful day, and they were going to Broadway. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Laf’s face.

 

*********************

 

Alex burst out of the theater, blindly tracing a path that he had traveled so many times he could have done it in his sleep. Dodging pedestrians, he crossed the street against the light and nearly missed getting sideswiped by a taxi. He didn’t hear the blaring horn, and avoided eye contact with the startled passenger. Before he had quite realized where he was headed, he stood at an apartment door, remembering when it would open with his key. Now, surreally, he knocked.

Footsteps approached and the door opened. His chest heaved, and he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Angelica…”

She looked him over. Finally, she moved back and held the door open. He stepped inside.


	9. Chapter 9

Angelica hadn’t been expecting him to appear at her door -- not exactly. But she also wasn’t surprised to see him there. When Hamilton had strutted onstage midway through the first number of the opening night of _Benedict,_ she felt transported back in time. She had been to so many of his shows, sat next to him in dozens of audiences as they cheered for Eliza, and she couldn’t separate Hamilton from theatre in her mind. It was surreal seeing him and Thomas together on stage, the supernova and neutron star colliding in her universe.

A small part of her that she had shut away in a dark corner was unlocked that night, and she realized how much she had missed him. That part of her had been waiting for him to make the first move.

Angelica stood back to hold the door open, and he crossed the threshold. He looked like a damn mess. He was shaking, his eyes red-rimmed, and his hair stood in every direction.

“I had nowhere else to go.” He whispered.

She bit her lip, trying to reconcile three and a half years of silence with the feeling that no time had passed at all, now that he was standing in front of her. “So you came here.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t--”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay when you came to see _Benedict,_ ” he blurted. “You know why now, but also, I knew you didn’t want to see me.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Still. I’m sorry. I was watching you in the front row… it was so strange to see you there, after all this time. It seemed like you liked the show. You cried. Did you like it?” He held his breath, nervous, as he waited for her answer.

“Of course I did. I loved it. It’s the best thing you’ve done -- all of you. Eliza, Thomas…”

His expression transitioned from worried to devastated. It was the opposite of what she expected after praising him.

“We’re going to Broadway.” Hamilton stated tonelessly.

“That’s...amazing?” Angelica wasn’t sure what was happening here.

He met her eyes, distress etched into the lines between his brows. “Eliza told me about your plan. To push Thomas out, so he would run to Lee.”

“Hang on a second -- that wasn’t _my_ plan.”

“I meant, the collective ‘your’. Your boyfriend is the new André, so congratulations to you, too.” His gaze was now skimming around the apartment, pausing at different points, settling on the couch.

She looked at it over her shoulder. “Did you want to sit down?”

He stared at it. “Yes. No. Just... thinking about how we got here.”

Angelica took a breath, trying to gather her own thoughts, when Hamilton spoke again. “It’s over. With Thomas. He told me he told you about us, so… anyway, false alarm, you don’t need to worry about him getting hurt.”

She was dumbfounded. “Over? But just two nights ago, he was--”

“A lot’s happened since then.”

“You made it to Broadway.”

“It’s been a big day.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Speaking of, on the way over here, I was thinking about your wedding.”

She crossed her arms, remembering how enraging it could be to keep up with him. “You wanted to say I told you so?”

Hamilton sighed. “Of course not. We all wanted it to last forever.”

“Bullshit.” She shot back. “You never thought it would. You never liked him.”

“He was boring. Which would be fine for someone else but you were bored with him. That’s what I didn’t like. You shouldn’t have settled.” He had started pacing, and Angelica moved out of his path to sink down onto the couch.

“Well maybe I did because I couldn’t find someone who didn’t bore me. At least, someone available.” It was the second time she had come close to naming it in all the time they’d known each other.  He stopped walking for a second and closed his eyes.

“You were the most beautiful bride.”

 

_“To the bride!” Two hundred family members, friends and influential acquaintances raised their glasses as Eliza concluded her maid of honor speech. Angelica raised her own glass toward her sister, and laughing, turned to kiss her new husband. As she pulled away, her eyes found Hamilton’s. He looked somber, but forced a smile on his face as she watched._

_“I’ll be right back.” She whispered, and started making her way through the room. She was stopped a half dozen times, graciously accepting compliments about her dress or the centerpieces, and inquiring after each of the guests in turn. She finally got to his table, where Eliza was now sitting, deep in conversation with him._

_“Hey, loves. What’s going on?”_

_Eliza leaned back and smiled reassuringly at her. “Nothing at all. We’ll talk about it later, this is your day.”_

_“Talk about what later? Now I’m worried. Just tell me.”_

_She sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid. Alexander asked when you were going to throw the bouquet, and I said you weren’t going to because it’s an outdated tradition, and_ he _said…”_

_“I said, good, that means I won’t have to worry about you catching it. It was a joke.” He shot a look back at Eliza._

_“Guess you had to be there.” She said flatly._

_Angelica swallowed, uncertain how to respond. Eliza and Hamilton had been on the rocks for a while now. When Angelica had gotten engaged, Eliza had confessed that she secretly hoped her own engagement would be right around the corner so they could plan their weddings together. That hadn’t happened. The more time passed, the worse things got. Angelica never saw them fighting, but she could feel the chill between them. She had tried to talk to Hamilton about it. He denied anything was wrong, insisted that they didn’t need to rush things._

_“Well, maybe I_ should _do the bouquet toss, if that’ll get your ass in gear...._ It was a joke.” _She pointedly said to his panicked expression._

_Eliza tossed her hair over her shoulder and held a hand out to Angelica. “Forget it. Come on, let’s dance.”_

_Over an hour and multiple glasses of champagne later, Eliza went to grab water and Angelica limped back to Hamilton’s table. She plopped next to him. “Why aren’t you dancing?”_

_He reached an arm around her shoulders. “Just enjoying the show.”_

_She laughed, champagne bubbles making her feel floaty. “Well, you’re the expert on how to put on a show. How’d we do?”_

_“You are exquisite. Simply radiant, Mrs. Church.”_

_She giggled. “Mrs. Church! That sounds so weird. You think I’m glowing?”_

_“It’s the look of true love.”_

_She met his eyes, laughter slowly evaporating. “Just like how you look at Eliza.”_

_“Right. Just like that.” He leaned in and tenderly kissed her cheek, and she rested her head on his shoulder. The band began playing “Haven’t Met You Yet.”_

_“Do you ever think about the night we met?” She was married now; it was safe to talk about it._

_He stiffened slightly, and took a moment to respond. He didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “Of course, every now and then. But we’re here now. I’m trying to look toward the future.”_

_“In an alternate universe, this could have been our wedding. How bizarre.” She laughed around the lump in her throat._

_“I don’t know… Church knows how to give you what you want. I probably would have screwed up in some unforgivable way, you’d deservedly kick me to the curb, and I’d end up penniless and homeless because I wouldn’t know how to function without you.” He sighed, but she could feel him smiling._

_“Oh, I think we’re stuck with each other. I wouldn’t know what to do without you either. You’re like a… a parasite that got under my skin and any extraction would cause me to bleed out.”_

_He hummed. “I assume these are the kind of sweet nothings that made your husband helpless to your charms.”_

_She looked down at her three-carat, flawless emerald-cut engagement stone, now snug against a band covered in yet more diamonds. It suddenly felt excessively flashy. Hamilton reached over and took her hand, intertwining their fingers. “And I know that we can be so amazing… and being in your life is gonna change me…” he crooned along softly.  She laughed._

_“Angie? It’s midnight, I think we should head back.” Her husband had appeared, looking down at her awkwardly._

_She stood up unsteadily, dislodging Hamilton’s arm. “Okay. Um, we’re headed off on our honeymoon tomorrow, so. See you in a couple weeks?”_

_Hamilton nodded. “Safe travels. Take care of her, Church.”_

_“I always do, Hamilton.” He replied calmly._

_“Come on, let’s go.” She suddenly felt exhausted, and she just wanted to go to bed. Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of her life._

 

“Two weeks after that, I came back to New York to find out you and Eliza had broken up.”

“And you quickly figured out how to excise the parasite from your life.” He smiled, pained.

“Don’t do that.”

“That’s not why I’m here. I shouldn’t be here, really.” He glanced toward the door.

“Hamilton, sit down.”

He took a halting step toward the couch, and then continued until he was perched beside her.

“This is about Thomas?”

He nodded. “He quit _._ He’s going to _Caliban._ He’s gone.”

Angelica felt a rush of guilt, and she didn’t even know why.

He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “When I think about him spending all his time with Lee, it makes me sick. It’s not like we’ll have the same experience. He’ll be able to handle him better. He’s so good at figuring out what people want and giving it to them, and he won’t take abuse.” He paused. “But... he knows how I feel about it, and he’s still willing to work with him. How can he talk about the greater good while ignoring the feelings of the person he…?” He choked on the last word, unable to finish.

“He’s doing what’s best for him, and I’m sure he would expect you to do what’s best for you. But really, you two should be talking to each other about this.”

Hamilton shook his head. “He doesn’t want to talk to me. I said some awful… Then he just left. I always knew he would. I guess I hoped we would get a little more time.”

Angelica took his hand, and interlaced their fingers together. “Listen. I know what it’s like to be so mad at you I can barely form words. You need to give him some time, but not too much, you know? You’ve always just… cut your losses and moved on from people, so quickly. Or at least that’s how it seems.” She said quickly as he started to object. “I didn’t know that you even missed… us... until Thomas told me last night.”

“What? I’ve missed you every day.” He looked aghast.

She shrugged. “I didn’t know. We never spoke again.”

“You didn’t want to. I was respecting your wishes.”

“I know, I just… didn’t really think it was going to last as long as it did. I guess I thought you and Eliza would eventually make up, or… I don’t know. Something. Then I moved to England and it felt like that was it. I’m just trying to say, don’t make the same mistake with Thomas, okay?” He was staring at her. She reached up and tried to smooth down his hair.

A key scraped in the lock and Eliza opened the door.  She raised an eyebrow as she surveyed the scene in front of her.

Hamilton jumped up. “It’s not what it looks like -- Angelica and I aren’t rehearsing anything.”

Eliza rolled her eyes and dropped her keys on the hall table. “I’m going to take a nap; it’s already been a big day. I’m sure he told you we’re going to Broadway?” She smiled at Angelica.

“So effing exciting. I can’t wait.” Angelica beamed back at her.  Eliza blew her a kiss and went to her bedroom.

“...Too soon?” Hamilton asked Angelica in a low voice.

“I’m meeting a friend for coffee, so I need you to leave now.” She started pushing him out the door.

“A Burr-shaped friend, perhaps?” He turned his head to grin at her.

“How about we don’t talk for another four years.”

He turned around and drew her into a tight hug that was so familiar it made her ache. “Not acceptable. I would miss you every day.”

 

********************

 

John felt a grin spread across his face as he approached a table by the window. “Hey.”

Lafayette looked him over, an eyebrow raised. “Why so happy? You get laid or something?”

“Not even close, and thank you ever so much for the reminder. This is something _else_ that only happens after endless rejection and against impossible odds.”

“You decided to self-publish your novel?” Laf leaned forward, smiling. “Hey, that’s great, I told you _The Stage Manager_ was going to find a market--”

 _“No,_ and keep your voice down.” John cast a furtive glance around the restaurant. “I told you that in confidence. Just...stop guessing.”

“Okay then you should tell me, because I could keep going.”

 _“Benedict_ is going to Broadway.” He felt the grin reemerge, mirrored on Laf’s face across from him.

“No way. You did it.”

 _“We_ did it.  Everyone. Washington, and Eliza, and…”

“Alexander.”

“...Yeah.”

Lafayette moved swiftly on. “So what comes next?”

“We meet with the investor to find out his terms in exchange for putting up the capital we need to start prepping the show. Oh, and Burr is now André -- Jefferson quit.” He tried not to smile.

Lafayette’s jaw dropped. “Did you do that?”

 _“No._ He’s going to _Caliban.”_ John tried to mask his glee with indignation, but Lafayette knew him too well.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he replied gravely.

“Thank you. We’ll try to soldier on.”

Lafayette shook his head. “Well, I have some news for you, too… Jefferson is not the only one going to _Caliban.”_

Now it was John’s turn to be shocked. “You’re going back to Lee?”

He shrugged. “Not all of us get to work for Washington, but we all have bills to pay.”

“Well. If you need me to kick his ass, just call… and leave a message because I’m pathologically non-confrontational so I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Lafayette chuckled. “I’ll be fine.”

“And my other piece of advice would be to avoid sleeping with members of the cast. That does not lead to good things.”

 _“Merci._ Won’t be a problem… it’s not anyone in the cast that I’m interested in.” He took a sip of his mimosa.

John grinned and leaned forward eagerly. “Reeeally. What have you been hiding, you minx?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s why I asked.”

“Nothing I’m ready to talk about.”

John huffed and sat back, annoyed at being deprived of gossip.  He raised his own mimosa to his lips and glanced out the window, watching people wander past, bundled up in the afternoon chill. He realized that he felt content for the first time in a long time. Not just content, happy. He looked back at Laf to share the thought, and saw Laf watching him. He furrowed his brow.

“What?”

“You look happy. Well, you did, until a second ago.”  

John laughed.  “I was just about to say that. I am.”

“I’m glad. It’s been a long time.” Laf smiled fondly at him, and quickly glanced down.  

John paused. In his head, he rewound and pressed play on the conversation they had just had.  He opened his mouth, and shut it again. Laf sighed quietly and met his eyes. John looked back at him. He saw the face that he knew as well as his own -- better, for all the time he spent looking at it. He saw the man who had been by his side for a decade, maturing with him, arguing with him, making mistakes and learning with him. He saw his best friend -- steadfast, keeping him afloat when it felt easier to just swim down.

He drummed his fingers on the table. “You know, I was thinking.”

“Mm?” Lafayette looked wary.

“We both have a little time off off, and it’ll be a while til that’ll happen again -- we should take a trip somewhere after the new year. A long weekend, maybe. Montreal? You can help me practice my French.” He raised his eyebrow.

Lafayette’s eyes widened. “ _Ça va.”_

“Good. Let’s order some food, I’m starving.”

 

******************

 

Alex spent about thirty seconds leaning against the exterior door of the theater, idly wondering why it wasn’t opening, before he realized that he had to pull to get in. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He had gotten used to the warmth of another body pressed against him, and he kept waking up throughout the night, shivering, no matter how many blankets he piled on.

Jefferson was gone. Performing opposite Burr -- the right words from the wrong mouth, strange movements in a strange body -- left him unmoored. After the warmth and urgency of Jefferson’s performance, Burr’s controlled perfectionism left him bereft. Long, gruelingly precise rehearsals cast him reeling out onto night sidewalks, feeling like an audience member watching his own life and finding it wanting.

Since the fight -- _the breakup_ \-- he had screamed, bargained, and bellowed at the Jefferson who always lived in his head, as fiercely silent as the real one had proven to be. Their equal and opposite stubbornness led to a perfect storm of misery and silence. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, glancing around at the tinsel and stringed lights for the first time without any feeling at all. It was almost Christmas.

Opening the door at the back of the house, he heard someone call from the stage, “Welcome folks, to the Adams administration!”  Alex paused, taking in the man on stage addressing the company, Washington at his side. He was tanned, suggesting a recent tropical vacation. Clad in well-tailored slacks, his button-down tucked-in and creaseless, his height was further accentuated with a full head of dark wavy hair parted on the side.

The man chuckled, holding up his hands. His teeth were blindingly white. “Kidding, of course -- you all have been doing an amazing job. But you don’t need me to tell you that. My role here is to make sure you have what you need to get to the next level, not to step on your toes.”

“We’re approaching the holidays so there will be a few days of much-needed rest. We’ll also be adding a few dark days to the schedule so we can start rehearsals to see where we need to fill in some of the gaps from our off-Broadway budget,” Washington added.

Adams nodded. “Thank you, George. Well, I’d like to get to know each of you individually, and really get a sense of how you approach your role on the show so we can figure out how to move forward.  Okay, I’ve taken enough of your time, that’s all for now. Thanks, everyone.” He smiled and waved a hand. His eyes found Alex at the back of the theater, and he strode purposefully toward him. Alex pushed off the back wall and met him halfway.

“Alexander Hamilton? John Adams.” He held out a hand.  Alex took it, silently. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. George tells me that you’ve been instrumental in getting us this far. I’m hoping our partnership will boost this thing into the stratosphere.” Adams smiled again, with his teeth.

Alex tried to shake the feeling that a snake had infiltrated their garden. This was what he wanted. He was just overtired. “That’s the idea. We’re glad to have you on board.”

“I’m happy to hear that. I know it can be difficult to accept new blood when you’ve all had the opportunity to bond and create such a brilliant piece of art together. Listen -- how would you feel about letting me take you to dinner? It would give me the chance to pick your brain about your vision of _Benedict_ on Broadway. George and I have had plenty of conversations, but, as I said, I’m looking to meeting with each of you individually.”

Alex wasn’t sure how to process this proposition. “That’s very... dedicated of you, Mr. Adams. Thanks. I’m sure you’re busy so whenever--”

“How about tonight?” Adams kept his eyes fixed on Alex’s face. Alex swallowed.

“Uh… sure. Tonight.”

“Excellent. Gramercy Tavern, 8:00? See you there.” He placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder as he left, lingering for a moment longer than Alex expected.

He had to stop himself from laughing out loud at the absurdity of someone asking him to dinner at a place he could barely afford to walk by, nevermind sit at the table. He took a step forward into the theater, scanning around for Jefferson so they could laugh at this together -- but he wasn’t there. Alex knew that. That was part of the reason he had accepted.

 

*******************

 

Thomas felt a sense of deja vu as he took his seat to prepare for the _Caliban_ table read. It immediately evaporated as the cast and crew began to file in. They greeted each other enthusiastically, but seemed nervous to approach him, giving him sideways glances and a wide berth. They looked so... young. They looked hungry. They were all white, with the exception of a light-skinned Black man in the corner, talking with Lee. Thomas glanced at the empty chair to his left, which did not contain a man wound too tight, with too-long hair and too much ambition bottled in his compact frame. A voice spoke from his other side.

“Thomas Jefferson, right?”

Thomas glanced over and nodded. The voice belonged to a man with messily styled white-blonde hair and striking blue eyes. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, his biceps straining the sleeves. Jefferson recognized the seemingly effortless style, and knew how much effort went into it. “And you are?”

“Julian Summers. I’ll be playing Ariel?”

“So we’ll be working together quite a bit.” Thomas smiled at him. The man smiled back, but seemed nervous.

“Yep. Listen… I just wanted to talk to you, before we got started. I know you’re the big man on campus here, but we’re all taking this really seriously. This is our shot. Whatever the reason you’re really here, just don’t screw us over, okay?”

Thomas frowned, unsettled. “I’m here because I want to be.”

“Yeah, okay, but like, you gave up _Benedict,_ which any of us would kill -- like, literally take a life -- to be a part of; we all auditioned for background roles and never even came close, so… just… I don’t know what happened there but if you’re slumming it here, just try not to let it show, okay?”

Thomas stared at him.

Julian sank down in the seat, trying to appear casual and failing. “I’m sorry, I drew the short straw to tell you this, everyone is just nervous to have you here. I’m a big fan -- I saw the show. You were amazing. I actually saw _Dianetics_ when I was in high school. It was the first Broadway show I ever went to.”

Thomas snorted. “Well. If that doesn’t make me feel old.”

“You’re only four years older… that’s beside the point. It’s a dream come true for me to work with you, is all I’m saying. But we’re relying on you--”

“Alright kids, let’s do this.” Lee took a swig of his coffee and belched under his breath. “So since we all prefer it when I don’t interfere that much, especially because it means I don’t have to work so hard, I’m gonna hand this over to my stage manager and you can direct any questions to him. All yours, Lafayette.”  He pulled out his phone and ignored the room.

Not quite the inspiring opening speech that Washington had delivered, but Thomas felt a little relieved that Lee had enough sense to remove himself from the equation. Maybe this really would be the production he had been looking for. He needed to prove himself to his fellow cast members in a way he hadn’t quite expected, but that was fine. He could do that.

The table read went more smoothly than _Benedict_ ’s. The eager crowd of fresh MFA graduates came prepared. Despite their rocky introduction, Thomas was pleasantly surprised by Julian’s interpretation of Ariel, and felt he had something to play off. If it wasn’t lightning striking, that was okay. They had a little time to work on it.

“Thank you all so much. We’ll break for the holiday now -- resume rehearsals after the New Year. Have a great break, study up and we’ll see you in January. _Merci!”_ Lafayette’s gaze lingered on Thomas for a moment before he turned back to Lee, gesturing at his book and attempting to engage him in conversation, but Lee just grunted and kept his eyes on his screen. Thomas got up.

“Hey, uh, Thomas?” Julian had jumped up too. “So… I feel like I came across a little too strong before. Can I make it up to you? Buy you a drink?” He looked so desperate for his approval.

Thomas was resolutely not thinking about the night after his last table read. He checked his phone.  No messages. “Maybe another time. Thanks, though.”

“Sure, no problem. Hey -- let me get your number. We should get together... run through some lines over the break, make sure we’re prepared when we come back, you know?”

Thomas didn’t know how to refuse that request, so he quickly tapped his number into Julian’s phone and started home. He felt it buzz almost immediately.

 

Unknown number: Hey, it’s Julian. It was great to meet you… let me know if you change your mind about that drink ;)

 

Thomas felt a wave of emotion crashing down over him, and he stopped dead on the sidewalk. A few people gave him dirty looks as they maneuvered around him, and he stumbled over to lean against the nearest building. He felt like he had been walking around with a gaping chest wound ever since he left the _Benedict_ green room. Some moments he could patch it with gauze and breathe a little, and others -- like right now -- it sucked the air from his lungs.  But Hamilton had made it clear that he was done, and that Thomas’ choice was a dealbreaker. He would have to live with that. He would have to move on.

He looked down at his phone, and tapped out a reply without thinking.

 

Jefferson: You’re on.

 

********************

 

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Hm?”

Angelica looked over at Eliza. They were laying on the couch, heads on opposite armrests, watching a documentary on Netflix. “We should have a party.”

“A party.” Eliza sounded skeptical.

“Yeah, you remember those, right? Food, music, a couple dozen of our nearest and dearest? I want to have a New Year’s Eve Party.”

Eliza chuckled. “Remember that New Year’s in high school I snuck over to your house and we drank way too much Malibu and coke because we had no idea what was too much and it tasted like coconut heaven?”

“Didn’t taste that way coming back up.” Angelica muttered.

“True.” Eliza agreed.

“Anyway, what do you think? We could have it here… celebrate how much you’ve accomplished this year… officially closing the chapter of my marriage…”

“And making sure you have someone to kiss at midnight.” Eliza rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want, dear. You’re the party planner.”

Angelica grinned, and laid her head back down.


	10. Chapter 10

Alex swallowed hard as he approached the intimidating marble columns framing the entrance to the tavern. He was wearing his best suit -- okay, it was his only suit -- and he ran his hands through his hair nervously. It was getting a little long. He couldn’t think about that now.

He stepped inside and had barely given his name to the hostess before he was ushered to a table where Adams was already seated. He stood, smiling widely as Alex approached. Alex tried to stop himself from pathologically smoothing any wrinkles in his suit.

“Alexander -- look at you.” He reached out a hand to shake, but Adams pulled him in for a hug when their hands clasped. Alex was simultaneously hit with the sensation of glorious-smelling cologne mixed with a certainty that this couldn’t be where Adams conducted strictly professional meetings. “Please, have a seat. I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of ordering for us -- they have a seasonal tasting menu.”

“You… come here often?” Alex bit his lip in embarrassment.

“Every now and again. Ah! Here we go.”

The first course had arrived, and Alex realized that he hadn’t consumed much more than a street sausage in a few days. This was the best food he’d ever eaten. And he’d eaten some pretty good street sausages. He felt relieved that was not a thought that he shared out loud.

Adams spoke again when they were alone. “So, I was saying… we’re here because it’s a special occasion. I’ve invested in a number of shows over the years, but this is the first time I’ve been truly excited since… actually, probably since _Dianetics: Real Science!._ Do you remember that one?”

Alex felt his heart stop for a moment, and his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “Yes. I… Aaron Burr was in the original cast.”

“That’s right! He was wonderful. It was great to see him. I was also hoping to catch up with Thomas Jefferson, but....” Adams shrugged. “He left as soon as his contract expired back then, and now I arrive to find he’s gone again. I’m starting to take it personally.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Alex fidgeted, trying to stay calm. _What am I doing here? I shouldn’t be here, I should be..._ He placed his right hand on his knee and took a deep breath.

“Everything okay?” Adams looked him over. “How’s your soup?”

“Yes. Excellent. Thank you for wanting to meet with me. I’ve spent over a year studying Arnold, and I hope you’ll--”

“Ah, we’ll have time for all that.” Adams waved his hand vaguely, then rested it on the table. “More wine?”

“What’s happening here?” Alex interjected, staring at Adams. He had a pretty good idea, but subtlety wasn’t one of his strengths.

Adams looked back at him steadily. “Honestly? Whatever you want to happen. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea -- I know I’m mixing business and pleasure, but you are under no obligation...” He paused, speaking again in a more measured tone. “I’m intrigued by you, Alexander. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for quite some time, and it’s been a while since I’ve felt that way. I think we can make something amazing together. And I wanted to get to know you a little better. That’s all. But if you want to keep this strictly professional, say the word.” He met his eyes and waited.

Alex took a deep breath. Jefferson had walked away and hadn’t looked back, so he should do the same. He reached over with his left hand and placed it on Adams’. Adams looked down, then up to meet Alex’s eyes with a small smile. He adjusted his grip so his palm was facing up, and curled his thumb to caress Alex’s hand.

“Is this what you did with Thomas Jefferson, too? Did you take him out to dinner, take him... before you invested in the show?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he flinched, hearing them out loud.

“I make it my business to keep abreast of up and coming New York talent, Alexander. I’ve been following your career for some time, but it wasn’t until I saw you in _Benedict_ that I felt… I wanted to get to know you better,” he repeated. He hadn’t answered the question.

Alex withdrew his hand and placed it next to his dish. “Then let’s get to know each other a little better. You don’t want to talk about Arnold, so what do you want to know about?”

“Well, you.” Adams relaxed slightly. “Tell me about your family… have they been supportive of your career?”

“I don’t have a family. Has yours?”

Adams looked slightly taken aback, but recovered. “Yes, well… I’m in the family venture capital business, so we’re all fortunate to speak a common language. They may not understand my interest in investing in the arts, but they indulge it.” He smiled, but when Alex didn’t smile back, he sighed. “Alexander… I feel that I’ve insulted you somehow, and I want to apologize. That wasn’t my intention, at all.”

Alex shook his head, guilt creeping in. “No, look -- I’m sorry. You took me out to this amazing place that I could never afford to go to in a million years, and you’re being nice and I’ve been an asshole. It’s just been... rough, lately.”

Adams nodded. “Well, to the first point -- I’m hoping that our partnership will be the first step in getting you to a status where you could choose to eat at any restaurant you wanted. To the second point, I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been having a difficult time. Anything I can do to help?”

Alex’s phone dinged with a notification and he shoved his hand in his pocket, the word ‘partnership’ ringing in his brain. “Shit -- I’m sorry, I meant to silence it. Let me turn it off.” He glanced at the screen as he went to press the power button, and saw Angelica’s name. He smiled, then almost laughed in disbelief at the content of the message.

 

Angelica: New Year’s Eve bash at Eliza’s! All are welcome, let’s ring in the new year in stylee

 

“Everything okay?” Adams looked amused at his expression.

“Yeah -- sorry. My friend is having a New Year’s Eve party… we just reconnected recently so I didn’t think she’d invite me to something like that.”

“Sounds fun.”

“She’s thrown some unforgettable parties.” Alex paused. “Do… uh, do you have plans for New Year’s?”

“Nothing I wouldn’t skip in favor of going to bed early.” Adams shrugged, then smiled again. “Unless you can think of a reason I should stay up.”

Alex’s head was spinning. “What… would you want to go to my friend’s party? It’s going to be at Eliza’s apartment, and I’m sure Burr will be there, so you’d get to know some of the cast members, but… it’s not black tie or anything. It’s maybe light gray tie. And there definitely won’t be any ties.”

“My kind of party. I’m in.” Adams winked and signaled for the check. Alex was in slight disbelief that he had accepted. On the other hand, it felt appropriate that his date to celebrate the new year was the man who held his future in his hands.

 

********************

 

Thomas stepped into the dive bar, wincing at the pulsing bass. He scanned the crowd of men, earning quite a few interested looks back. He shook his head and was about to turn around and go home, when he caught sight of Julian hurrying toward him, grinning. “Hey! I’m glad you came. What can I get you to drink?” In his mind, an image flashed of a glass of wine waiting on a coffee table.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

Julian glanced self-consciously down at his Bud Light and nodded, striding over to the bar.

Two whiskeys later, Thomas was feeling calmer. Julian had to lean in to be heard above the raucous noise, and when he stayed close, Thomas let him. He let him do the talking. He let him put his arm around Thomas’ shoulders to steady himself when Thomas said something to make him laugh, and he let him press against his body and kiss him.

He was a little more aggressive with his tongue than Thomas would have liked, putting slightly too much pressure with his lips, while his touch on Thomas’ waist was a little too hesitant. It wasn’t lightning striking. But Thomas was aware that didn’t happen twice. He tried to take control of the kiss, knowing the only way past this feeling was through it. Julian was eager to let him lead, and Thomas couldn’t stop himself from fast forwarding in his mind and picturing exactly how he’d be in bed. Without his express permission, his brain called to mind the last time someone had wanted him like this.

 

_Thomas knelt on either side of Hamilton’s hips, slowly running his hands up his chest and back down his arms, grasping him by the wrists and pinning them over his head. Hamilton complied easily, biting a grin back, meeting Thomas’ eyes. Thomas leaned down to bite that lip with his own teeth, sucking it between his lips. Hamilton moaned and unconsciously lifted his hips, searching for friction._

_"Impatient.” Thomas muttered against his mouth, trying to hide his own smile._

_“You’ve been teasing me for hours!”_

_“It’s been like, ten minutes.”_

_“Time is a social construct.” Hamilton responded, frustrated. “Besides... you like me like this.”_

_“I do.” Thomas agreed, reaching down to give him some relief, wrapping one hand around both of them while he kept Hamilton’s wrists pinned with his other hand. After a few strokes, he reached over to roll on a condom. Releasing his wrists, he pushed back his legs against his chest and entered him slowly._

_Hamilton sucked in a breath and smiled, slowly exhaling as he reached up to run a hand down Thomas’ chest. “Thomas...”_

_Thomas closed his eyes, a pang in his chest drawing the air from his lungs. In his experience, sex had almost always been a means to an end, two people using each other for their own pleasure. Everyone had a good time and then went their separate ways. With Hamilton, it had felt different from the beginning. Hamilton had found ways to touch him that he didn’t even know he would respond to. It went beyond the bedroom -- just a look across the stage could leave him undone._

_He began to move, and Hamilton instantly reciprocated. Thomas leaned down to kiss him as the pleasure washed over him. They had explored each other’s bodies in every way he could think of since that first time in the hotel, and he still couldn’t get enough. He had never wanted to be so close to another person before. He had been just fine on his own for so long._

_Hamilton was getting close, his fingernails digging into his back, and Thomas reached down again to stroke him, pressing their foreheads together. “Come on, baby…”_

_He came with a cry, and Thomas soon followed, burying himself deep inside Hamilton, burying his face in his neck. After a few moments, he tried to roll onto his side so he wasn’t crushing Hamilton’s lungs, but he wrapped his arms around Thomas instead, holding him in place. “Don’t leave,” he murmured against Thomas’ chest._

_“I won’t. Don’t worry.”_

 

Thomas wrenched away from Julian with a gasp and ran his hands through his hair.

“God… you’re an amazing kisser.” Julian grinned at him.

Thomas swallowed, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Thanks. Listen, I think I need to…” His phone buzzed in his pocket. He immediately reached for it and stared at the screen, his heart sinking.

 

Angelica: New Year’s. New beginnings. Party at Eliza’s place… bring a special someone? ;) xo

 

Julian leaned over and peered at his screen, not even attempting to give him privacy. “Ohhh, New Year’s party! I love parties. Who are you bringing?” He winked. “I don’t have plans, just for the record.”

Thomas tried to picture showing up at the party alone, the clock ticking down toward midnight, surrounded by dozens of couples kissing each other as he stared at the TV. He pushed down his misgivings, pushed away his memories and met Julian’s wide blue eyes. “Would you like to go?”

 

*********************

 

Lafayette wrung out the excess water from the sponge, keeping one eye on the TV as he wiped down his counter. He sealed the leftover bolognese in a Tupperware and set to work on the dishes. The announcers shouted in frustration as Lyon missed another penalty kick. “ _Casse-toi,”_ he muttered.  

His phone rang in his pocket. He wiped his hand quickly on a dish towel, and pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. Smiling, he swiped to answer.

 _“Allo,_ John.”

“Hey, Laf. Uh, what are you up to?”

“Watching my beloved countrymen suffer a horrible fate. It’s a slaughter. I am sorry to report there will be no survivors.”

“Ohhh, right, the game.” John paused, and he heard a door shut. He must have just gotten home from the show. “So is this a bad time?”

 _“Non,_ this saves me from having to watch. What’s up? How did it go tonight?”

“Good, it was a great show. It’s starting to get hectic at the stage door; I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when we get to Broadway. Anyway, I just wanted… so, I was just talking to Eliza. She invited me to a New Year’s Party at her place.”

Lafayette idly wrapped and unwrapped the dishtowel around his hand. “Oh, okay. That was nice of her.”

“Yeah. So, um, she said I could bring a date.”

He paused mid-wrap. “John, if you want to ask Alexander, I have to remind you once again that he brings you nothing but--”

 _“No,_ I’m not… that’s not…" His sigh came through the phone like a caress. "I‘m calling to see if _you_ wanted to go.”

Lafayette thumped back against the fridge, sending a few magnets scattering across the floor. “As your date.”

“Yeah. I just, well. I’ve been thinking.”

“Right. Thinking.”

“I don’t want to ruin anything we… You mean the world to me, you’re the best person I know, I just thought we could see how this goes. I mean it’s just a party, so if you don’t want to...”

Lafayette suddenly realized he was sitting on the floor. He shifted to remove a magnet that had gotten lodged under his thigh, staring at the message printed in delicate script: _“Wine is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. -Benjamin Franklin.”_

He had given up on this idea years ago. Even when John talked about going to Montreal, he didn’t let himself believe that meant what he had hoped. He had spent so many years content to be his friend, to see him pine over someone else and support him through it all. But they had had two years together before Alexander Hamilton arrived at Columbia, and Lafayette had not forgotten.

 

_Lafayette looked up as his dorm room door opened, apprehensive. A skinny boy with a smattering of freckles across his nose stopped short when he saw him, smiling. “Oh, hi! You must be Gilbert? I took the bed over there, I hope that’s okay… if you want to switch just let me know, I don’t care.”_

_Lafayette shook his head. “It’s okay, I don’t mind either.”_

_“Great.” The boy grinned. “I’m psyched we’re both in stage management. I can't wait til we get to put on our first production. Will you be my partner? Sorry, I know we just met, I just, well. Never mind.”_

_Lafayette stared at the wide brown eyes and infectious smile, the corners of his own mouth turning up in response. “Of course.”_

_They were inseparable. Most people referred to them as JohnandLaf at parties, because it was easier than trying to distinguish between them. Lafayette would travel home with John to South Carolina during school breaks. They spent lazy days taking long walks under mossy trees, talking about their childhoods, professors they hated, visions for the future. John visited Lafayette in France the following summer. Stumbling home from a bar in Paris one night, having taken a little too much liberty with the legal drinking age, John tripped over a cobblestone. He threw his arms around Lafayette, laughing._

_Lafayette pulled him in to steady him, chuckling, swaying in the shadows between two lampposts. He was kissing him before he realized it, and John eagerly kissed him back. It was only a moment, and it was the best moment of his life. A car approached, headlights illuminating their embrace, and John pulled away, laughing again. He grabbed his hand to lead him back to Lafayette’s parents’ house, where he stumbled to Lafayette’s bed and passed out, snoring lightly. Lafayette carefully climbed in next to him, leaving three inches, a locked door’s worth of distance, between them. He laid awake all night, staring at the ceiling._

_John went home the next day,_ France Inter _blaring from the speakers of Lafayette’s father’s car as he drove them to the airport. John looked out the window for the whole ride. They never talked about it._

 _Time marched on, and the following year snapped their friendship back into place like a rubber band. They were JohnandLaf again, they talked about everything and nothing, but that subject was closed and Lafayette would not open it for fear of losing everything. A few weeks into their junior year, Lafayette and John sat side by side in the auditorium for the open casting call of_ Jesus Christ Superstar. _John was sinking lower and lower in his seat as the auditions dragged on._

_“Thanks, that was great!” He called to the second-year acting major that was scurrying off the stage. He glanced over at Lafayette and lowered his voice. “Dude, that was horrible. Aren’t these people supposed to be like, experts at acting? How did he get accepted here?”_

_Lafayette shrugged. “He has two years to work on it, I suppose?” His eyes drifted to the young man next in line, climbing the steps to the stage. “Who are you…?” He murmured. He glanced over at John, and felt his heart sink at the expression on his face._

_He was sitting up straight in his chair, his earlier crankiness forgotten. The figure on stage paused, awaiting instructions._

_John cleared his throat. “Hey there, hi. Uh, if you could just… introduce yourself, and dive right in with whatever you’d like to show us. Your song, I mean. Or...whatever.” Lafayette closed his eyes briefly and sighed._

_The man smiled. “My name is Alexander Hamilton.”_

 

“Laf? Are you there? You know what, just forget I called, we can do something else for New Years, totally low-key…”

“I would love to be your date to the party, John. And just to be clear, when we go to Montreal, we are getting a room with one bed. _Bonne nuit.”_

He hung up the phone before John could reply. Carefully rising to his feet, he finished wiping down the counters. An incoming text chimed, and even Lyon’s 0-3 loss couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.

 

John: No shit.

 

*********************

 

Angelica peered into the slow cooker, assessing the status of the buffalo chicken dip. It could probably use a little more time. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, and Burr placed a kiss on her neck. “Mmmm... smells good.”

“I just have a couple more things to throw in the oven. I still need to shower and get ready, people should start getting here in about a half an hour… oh shit, I forgot to get ice for the drinks!”

Burr stepped away. “Anything I can do to help? Especially the shower part?”  She turned around to give him a disapproving look, and he sighed theatrically. “I’ll go get the ice. Need anything else?”

“No, that’s it.” She tapped her foot on the ground. “I think I’m just nervous. Don’t tell anyone, but… I sort of invited both Alex and Thomas, and I tried to tell them both they could bring a date in the hopes that they would talk about it and come together.”

Burr raised an eyebrow. “Hm. It’s not my place to say anything, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen, based on what I’ve observed at the show lately.”

Angelica’s eyes widened. “Why? What do you know?”

“I think Alexander is seeing someone else. I could be imagining it, but…”

Angelica groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Goddamnit Alex, can you keep it in your pants for like _five minutes._  Maybe this was all a terrible idea.”

“What was?” Eliza emerged from her room, looking flawless in a midnight blue satin dress that stopped well above the knee, showing off her perfect legs. Angelica shoved a stray curl away from her face and gaped at her. “You look amazing. I love that dress.”

“Thanks. It has pockets.” She placed her hands inside them to demonstrate and grinned. “Anyway, what’s the terrible idea?”

“Angelica is feeling overwhelmed with the details of the party,” Burr cut in. “I’m going to go pick up some ice.”

Eliza looked at him appraisingly, communicating that she was aware that wasn’t the whole story. He looked back at her, unperturbed. She sighed. “Okay. I’ll finish up with the apps in here, why don’t you go get ready?” She stepped past Angelica into the kitchen, pulling out a wheel of Brie from the fridge and turning on the oven.

Burr grabbed Angelica’s hand as she started toward the bathroom. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “Everything will be fine. Worst case scenario, we kick everyone out and go make a new baby for the new year.” He brushed back her stray curl and kissed her.

 _"Gross.”_ Eliza yelled from the kitchen as Angelica laughed, pushing Burr away. “Go get that ice, Burr, stick some on your--”

_“Eliza!”_

 

********************

 

Alex stood awkwardly outside his apartment, watching the black car pull smoothly up to the curb. Adams got out of the back, smiling. “Alex -- you look amazing.”

He looked down at himself. He was wearing a deep green button-down and fitted black pants. Nothing fancy. He raised his eyes to take in Adams, and noticed that he was clad in all black, with a light gray tie. Adams glanced down and flipped the end at him.

Alex smiled, shaking his head. He approached the car, and Adams quickly opened the door for him. He slid in as Adams walked around to the other side. He had been at every show this week, and at every rehearsal during the day. Based on his notes, they were starting to make changes to some of the numbers, and Adams was not shy about making his opinion known. It was what Jefferson had said would happen, and it was starting to annoy some of the cast.

Alex felt unsure of his allegiance. He wanted to do what was best for the show, but he didn’t always agree with the decisions. And most confusingly, he wasn’t sure what his relationship to their producer was at this point. They had been out to dinner a few times -- Alex had never been so well-fed in his life -- but nothing else had happened.

That was why he was so surprised when, as Adams shut the door behind him, he leaned over the seat and reached out to turn Alex’s face toward his, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Alex froze.

“I wanted our first kiss to be in private, not in front of a crowd at midnight.” Adams said smoothly. “I hope that’s okay.” Alex swallowed and glanced at the driver, who was looking straight ahead. “What about him?” he choked out.

Adams shook his head, chuckling. “Okay, let’s get going.”

Alex turned to look out the window as the sedan glided through the streets. People blurred into shapes that he could just barely bring into focus before they were gone again. He shifted on his seat, the leather squeaking in protest. He was used to walking or taking the subway; he never saw the city from this angle. Everything looked vaguely off. Just slightly left of center of where it should be.


	11. Chapter 11

Thomas lightly rapped his knuckles against the door, listening to the babble of voices and steady bass leaking out from the apartment. Julian stood beside him, clutching a bottle of wine. He pulled out his phone and breathed out a laugh, holding it out to Thomas. “Look -- I Insta’d the selfie I took when you picked me up, and it’s already gotten over 200 likes.”

Thomas frowned, turning toward him. “You...what?”

“Instagram? It’s like a social media--”

“I know what Instagram is.” Thomas cut in irritably. “Why do that many people care about a selfie?”

“Because a lot of theatre people follow me? And the fact that you’re hot doesn’t hurt.” Julian blushed slightly, and Thomas was spared a reply as the door opened.

Angelica squealed, throwing her arms around him. “Thomas!” She paused, fixing a polite smile on her face as she turned to Julian. “Hi there… I’m Angelica.”

He tucked his phone away and smiled at her. “Julian Summers. Thank you so much for having me -- you have a lovely home.” He held out the bottle of wine.

Angelica glanced at Thomas, reaching for it. “You’re very kind. It’s actually not mine, but the owner lets me throw parties here, so who am I to complain? Come on in.” She held open the door as Julian entered the apartment, and grabbed Thomas by the arm as he started to step forward. He looked at her, surprised.

“What the hell, Thomas? Who is that?” She whispered angrily.

“Julian. You just met.” He said slowly, bewildered. “He’s in _Caliban_ with me. I thought you said to bring someone… Is something wrong?”

She looked past him into the empty hallway and shook her head. “No. I just thought… What about Alexander?”

He stifled the flash of pain in his gut. “What about him? I told you, that’s over.”

“So you moved on that quickly? I wanted you to bring someone so you two could come _together._ ”

“You want him here?” Thomas almost laughed. “Last we spoke about it, you wanted his head on a stake.”

“Well, he and I talked since then. He came here after you two had your fight.”

Thomas felt his mouth drop open. “He...what?”

“Thomas, get in here! There’s _buffalo chicken dip!”_ Julian had reappeared, grabbing Thomas’ hand and leading him into the apartment.

He looked back at Angelica as she slowly shut the door. “Hey -- you look stunning, by the way.”

She bit back a grin as Burr appeared, nodding. “True, but then again, she always does.”

A muffled noise escaped Julian, the hand holding a toasted baguette slice piled with dip pausing halfway to his mouth. He stared at Burr. “You’re Aaron Burr.”

Burr smiled politely. “I am.”

“This is Julian, Thomas’ date.” Angelica intoned, glancing at Burr. He raised an eyebrow.

“My colleague - from _Caliban.”_ Thomas declared, to the room at large. He was starting to wonder if coming alone would have been the better call after all.

“I told Thomas, I saw _Dianetics_ in high school, actually I think I’ve seen everything you’ve ever done, I’m so excited to see you as Andre--”

“Julian? Is that you?” Thomas and his colleague that he had kissed both turned in surprise that someone knew him here. Thomas was even more surprised to see Lafayette, who had clearly arrived with Laurens. Burr seemed to jump at the opportunity to take leave of the conversation, and gestured for Angelica to follow him to the kitchen.

“Laf! Hey buddy! I was just meeting _Aaron Burr._ Crazy, right?” Julian shook his head in wonder. He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “want me to introduce you?”

Laurens rolled his eyes and Lafayette chuckled. “We’ve met. But why are you…” He looked back and forth between Thomas and Julian as Eliza walked up.

“Thomas, thanks so much for coming. Always a pleasure.” She smiled and introduced herself to Julian, who burst out that it was an honor to meet her and began listing all the productions he’d seen her in.

Laurens leaned over and said in a low voice, “So this is your new boyfriend?”

Thomas took a deep breath and spotted Madison pulling a beer out of a large bucket full of ice in the kitchen. “Wonderful to see you again, Laurens. Please excuse me.” As he approached his friend, he began counting down the minutes until midnight, when he could get the hell out of there.

 

********************

 

John watched Jefferson cross the room, then turned back to Lafayette, quirking an eyebrow. He couldn’t believe that Jefferson had moved on to this guy. Julian couldn’t be more different from Alex. For starters, he looked like he walked out of an ad for a damn juice cleanse. Laf couldn’t seem to offer any further insight; he shrugged at John’s silent plea for an explanation. He sighed and tuned back into Julian’s conversation with Eliza.

“...but probably my favorite role you ever did was what's-her-name, the Florida serial killer? It was at the Public Theater a few years ago. Absolutely chilling.”

Eliza smiled. “Aileen Wuornos. You know, Angelica and I were just watching a documentary about her. She was fun to play. Less fun in real life,” she added quickly.

“Right.” Julian nodded solemnly.

“Who is this?” Lafayette asked, frowning.

John smiled and put his arms around Laf’s shoulders. “He grew up in France, he doesn’t know exceptional American criminals.”

“I know Benedict Arnold,” Laf replied indignantly. John couldn’t help but notice that he leaned into the embrace, despite his affronted tone. He squeezed his arm, gently.

“I should hope so, I’ve only been talking about him for like a year… Not sure he falls in the same category though. Florida is a unique and special corner of our great nation. And by unique and special, I mean--”

Julian swallowed another bite of chicken dip. “I’m from Florida! Tampa.”

John opened his mouth and closed it again. “Well. You’re not all serial killers.” Lafayette slowly turned to look at him.

There was a pause.

“I’m going to check in with Thomas.” Julian pointed his thumb over his shoulder and wandered off.

“Oh my _God!”_ Eliza stage-whispered, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Angelica must be freaking out. She’s trying to patch things up between Thomas and Alexander, but she thinks I don’t know that so I can’t ask her about it.”

“I just don’t want drama during _Caliban.”_ Lafayette moaned. “Off-stage, that is.”

John chuckled. “It’s like you’ve learned nothing after all these years of working with actors.” He punched him playfully in the arm, and Laf smiled, placing his own hand over John’s fist. He grasped and raised it, gently pressing John's knuckles against his lips.

 

********************

 

Thomas pressed a cold beer against his temple, trying to keep the brewing migraine at bay, as Julian energetically described his favorite costume from _Let Them Eat Cake_ to a wide-eyed Madison. Before Thomas could finish introducing him, Julian had launched into another speech of appreciation for Madison’s work. Apparently this kid had memorized the cast and crew of every production in New York throughout the twenty-first century.

“...the way it sort of flowed, almost looked like water cascading down her bod--holy _shit_ I think that’s _Alexander Hamilton!”_ Julian gasped, interrupting himself. Thomas automatically looked toward the entryway and his world stopped making sense.

Hamilton hadn’t spotted him yet. He was smiling, kissing Eliza on the cheek, wrapping his arms around Angelica for a hug. Thomas would have been thrown off-kilter just by the sight of him, but his brain could not compute John Adams at his side, his hand placed territorially on the small of Hamilton’s back.

 

_Thomas felt a hand touch his back, and he jumped a little. A low chuckle sounded in his ear. “Sorry I startled you. Ready for your Broadway debut?”_

_Thomas looked over his shoulder and smiled at Adams, feigning bravado. “Of course.”_

_“That’s my boy.”_

_They watched the opening number of_ Dianetics: Real Science! _from the wings, Thomas breathing deeply. He was the youngest person in the cast, and the most recent arrival to the New York scene. Everyone else seemed so calm and collected -- even Burr, also making his Broadway debut. Thomas had tried to connect with him during rehearsals, but Burr kept him at arm’s length -- always polite, always friendly, but never truly letting him in. He felt lonely, and calling home didn’t help. His parents didn’t quite understand his drive to be an artist; their professional pursuits were more practical and tended toward the bottom line. When Adams had come on as producer, he had taken a singular interest in Thomas, and he felt for the first time that someone in this city cared about him._

_“Hey -- you’ve worked incredibly hard. Whatever happens, I’m proud of you.” Adams glanced around, the crew focused on their various jobs, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Thomas automatically kissed him back, then remembered himself and turned back toward the stage, counting down to his entrance._

_Their relationship had evolved without Thomas really noticing. At first, Adams offered to stay late with Thomas after rehearsals, suggesting feedback from his experience producing other musicals. Thomas gladly accepted, grateful for the advice. One day, he asked if he was hungry, and Thomas pictured his bare cupboards in his basement apartment. They went to dinner together for the first time._

_When Adams had suggested Thomas come back to his place for a drink, he only hesitated for a moment. After all, he trusted him. The longer it went on, the more Thomas convinced himself that he wanted this. He had never dated anyone throughout high school in rural Virginia -- any options that might have been available to him were few and closeted. College had brought more opportunities, but no one had lasted beyond a few drunken hookups._

_Adams was self-assured, established. He was attentive, asking Thomas questions about his life, laughing at his jokes. Thomas had spent a lifetime building such a wall around his true self that he had never truly felt_ seen _quite like this before. In a very real way, Adams’ support had gotten him to this moment. Maybe they even had a future together beyond the Broadway run of_ Dianetics.

_Thomas heard his cue. He breathed out slowly, and stepped onstage. Facing the audience, he couldn’t distinguish the young man with a hunger-pang frame from the rest of the crowd. He didn’t see his deep brown eyes drinking in Thomas’ movements like a shipwreck survivor that had just found an oasis. Thomas went home with Adams that night, high on endorphins and drunk on the champagne that flowed at the after party._

 

Thomas approached them like he was moving underwater. Julian trailed closely behind him, but he didn’t notice. Eliza and Angelica had circulated back into the crowd, and Hamilton and Adams were left talking alone. Adams spotted him first. His face lit up. “Thomas!”

Hamilton turned at the exclamation, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. He met Thomas’ eyes, and glanced over to process the distance between him and Julian before resignedly facing him again. Thomas felt like he was going to throw up.

“Mr. Hamilton… Alexander. I’m Julian? I’m an actor, but not like you and… I mean, hopefully, someday… I saw you in _Benedict,_ I can’t wait to see it on Broadway.” Julian practically genuflected.

Hamilton looked like he was struggling to put together a reply, when Adams broke in. “Thank you, Julian. We’re excited, too.”

“You’re the investor.” Thomas spoke for the first time, the pieces falling into place. His voice sounded like he had swallowed a fistful of gravel.

Adams smiled at him. His skin was still smooth and unnaturally tanned, but his temples were now flecked with gray. “I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. I was just sorry to hear that you wouldn’t be a part of it, Thomas.”

“Seems like you worked out how to move on.” He bit out, meeting Hamilton’s gaze. His eyes narrowed in return.

“Your loss is our gain!” Julian piped up, cheerfully. “We couldn’t believe it when Lafayette told us that Thomas was joining _Caliban._ You all might have some competition for next year’s Tony’s.”

“Thomas is very convincing in the roles he plays,” Hamilton finally spoke, coolly.

“What does _that_ mean?” Thomas retorted angrily.

“Alex, I think I see Aaron over there… should we go say hi?” Adams returned his hand to Hamilton’s back, trying to regain control of the situation.

Hamilton took a deep breath. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” He looked at Julian. “Nice to meet you. Jared, was it?” Hamilton glanced sideways at Thomas.

“Julian."

He extended his hand. "Right." 

"This party is the shiiiit.” Julian squeaked out, staring down at the hand Hamilton had grasped.

Adams looked over at Thomas. “I hope we get the chance to talk a bit more, later.”

Thomas didn’t reply. He headed toward the kitchen to get another beer.

 

********************

 

Angelica watched Jefferson walk away from Hamilton and Adams, his expression murderous. She sighed. Burr looked at her, concerned. “Hey. They’ll figure it out, or they won’t. It’s not your job to fix it.”

“I know. I just didn’t plan a gathering so that people could have a miserable time… Uh oh, they’re coming this way. Pretend you’re talking to me.”

“I am talking to you.” Burr frowned.

“Nice, just like that.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and beamed up at him.

Burr shook his head as Hamilton and Adams approached.

“Hello again, Angelica. Aaron, listen, I don’t know if you want to talk shop when you’re off the clock, but I was hoping to check in with you about a few ideas that popped into my head during the show last night?” Adams clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Angelica hardly heard Burr’s reply as he and Adams moved into a quieter corner to talk, leaving Hamilton standing alone.

“Hi.” He tried to smile at her, and she drew him into a hug.

“For _real_ with this guy?” Angelica blurted out.

“I don’t know. Why not?” He confessed. “We see things the same way, theoretically… I guess I haven’t always agreed with him in practice, but it hasn’t felt worth it to challenge anything yet. Washington likes him.”

She sighed, frustrated. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I don’t care about your work.”

“I do," he replied, simply. "It’s all I have.”

“It wasn’t, not that long ago,” Angelica countered.

Hamilton didn’t say anything. He was more put together than the last time she saw him, but the shadows under his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep.

“Alex, I think you should talk to Thomas. Aaron told me some things about Adams...”

Hamilton pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Look, I know you believe that Burr is the paragon of virtue, but whatever he said--”

 _“ _S_ omething _ happened with Thomas and Adams, and it ended abruptly. Then Thomas moved to England to get away from everything.”

“He never said anything about that.” Hamilton frowned.

“He never did to me, either. But I do know he never dated anyone seriously again. Until…”

Adams and Burr had finished their conversation, and were walking back toward Angelica and Hamilton. She stopped talking and smiled up at Burr as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Adams made a move toward Hamilton, but he casually took a step out of his reach.

“It’s getting a little warm in here. I’ll be back in a few.”

Adams looked at him, concerned. “Do you want me to join you?”  
  
“No, I’ll be fine -- thanks. See you in a bit.” He turned and disappeared down a hallway.

 

********************

 

Alex pulled the sliding door shut behind him, relishing the relative silence of New York street noise. He didn’t usually like the quiet. Flexing his fingers and curling them into fists to keep the blood flowing, he tilted his face toward the sky. People always complained about light pollution in the city, but he found it comforting that he couldn’t see the stars. Being confronted with the vastness of space reminded him of just how insignificant he was. It reminded him of home.

The muffled music from the apartment suddenly increased in volume as the sliding door opened behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and quickly turned around again, now gazing down at the street. People were hurrying in the direction of Times Square, laughing and blowing novelty noisemakers.

Jefferson shut the door and walked over to the railing, his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s freezing out here. What are you doing, Alex?”

“Just getting some air, Thomas.” He was trying for laissez-faire, but it came out sounding distant and a little wavery. “How did you find me?”

“Who says I was looking for you?” Jefferson sighed, and pulled his sweater over his head, curls springing back into place. He held it out. “Put this on.”

Alex looked at him out of the corner of his eye. He was starting to shiver. “I’m fine.”

“You’re going to catch pneumonia.”

“You don’t get pneumonia by being cold.”

Jefferson bit his lip, the sweater dangling between them. “Regardless, you whine when it’s sixty degrees out. Just take the damn thing if you’re going to stay out here.”

Alex gave in, silently reaching for the garment, the overwhelming scent of _Thomas_ surrounding him as he pulled it over his head. Another shiver went through him.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your date?”

Jefferson looked at him witheringly. “Don’t.”

“No, congratulations, he’s really… muscley. And jovial. Is that your type?”

“Is rich and predatory yours?” Jefferson shot back.

 _“Predatory?”_ Alex laughed, sucking in a lungful of bitterly cold hair and choking on a cough. “I’m a grown man, Thomas. No one is taking advantage of me.”

Jefferson shoved his hands into his pockets. “John Adams definitely has a type. Talented actors who are desperate to rise up. If I had known he was the investor…”

“You what?” Alex shot back. “You would have stayed? Abandoned your principles to protect me from the predator?”

Jefferson shook his head, sadly. “You’re doing just fine on your own. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“And you?” Alex turned on him, taking a step toward him. Jefferson held his ground.

“What did he do to you, Thomas?”

“Nothing.”

“Angelica told me he did something -- you left the damn country. And whatever it was, it affected your reaction at the meeting, and what happened with us. No more secrets. What does _Burr_ know that I don’t?” He was trying to keep his frustration at a low boil.

Jefferson paused for a beat, visibly weighing his options. He gave in, and took a breath.

 

_Thomas poked his head into the booth, raising an eyebrow at the stage manager. “Hey. Have you seen Adams?”_

_The other man barely looked up. “Yeah, I think he wanted to review some notes with Burr? He’s probably in his dressing room.”_

_Thomas nodded, smiling. “Thanks.”_

_He made his way through the wings, back toward the dressing rooms. He whistled the show’s closing number under his breath, still energized from the night’s performance. It was going better than he ever could have imagined; he felt like he needed to pinch himself sometimes. Since he had moved to New York, Thomas had become accustomed to phoning home every Sunday and making polite conversation with his mom after she put him on speakerphone. Sometimes his dad would call out ‘goodbye’ as he hung up._

_Now things were changing. His dad had seen the review in the_ Times _last week, and had actually called him for the first time since he had moved. Adams had taken him out to a celebratory dinner, and arranged for a carriage ride through Central Park. Thomas laughed at how cheesy it was, but he glowed that someone cared enough to celebrate his accomplishment. New York still didn’t feel like home, exactly, but he was starting to see the appeal._

_Burr’s dressing room door was ajar. He raised his fist to knock, when he heard Adams say his name._

_“...don’t worry about Thomas. This is your year -- you need to make it happen. If you can talk to your friends in Actor’s Equity, I can take care of the rest of the Theatre Wing.”_

_Burr sighed audibly. “I don’t know… Shouldn’t we just let the voters decide? See how it goes?”_

_“Aaron.” Through the crack in the door, Thomas could see Adams sitting next to Burr on the couch. He was facing him, intensity written in his body language. “If we do that, you’re going to lose._ That’s _how it goes. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but Thomas is getting all the buzz right now. I’m looking out for both of your careers.”_

_“How?” Burr laughed, incredulously. “Why don’t you want him to win a Tony?”_

_“I do -- and he will, someday. He just needs me to mentor him a bit longer. I worry what will happen to… to his momentum if he shoots the moon on his first try.” Adams leaned in even closer to Burr. “You’re so polished, you’ve been ready for this for years. This is your moment. Look me in the eye -- good. Summon your courage. Will you take this shot?”_

_There was a pause. Thomas held his breath._

_“...Okay. Yes.”_

_Thomas backed away slowly from the door, his head spinning. He turned and ran into a set piece, pain shooting through his knee. He shoved his fist to his mouth, biting down to stay silent. Limping back to his dingy apartment for the first time in weeks, he silenced his phone and threw himself down on the bed, staring at the ceiling._

 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” Alex took a step toward him, and stopped himself.

“Because it doesn’t matter. It was in the past.”

“It does matter! He didn’t want you to outgrow him, so he sabotaged you to keep you down. You should have told me.”

“Well, had I known you were going to start _dating_ the guy…” Jefferson muttered.

“I’m not the one who left, Thomas,” Alex reminded him, stung. “You were just _gone.”_

Jefferson was looking at him like he had sprouted wings and was about to fly off the balcony. “May I remind you, you told me to get out?”

Alex exhaled a puffy cloud of air, watching it dissolve. He felt his distress evaporate too. “I did do that. This is why I need you around, to tell me when I’m being an idiot.” He paused, then the words poured out of him. “Thomas, you need to know, this thing with Adams isn’t...”

“I know.” Jefferson shook his head, looking down at the ground. “I know. But now it’s too late...since I’ve fallen in love with Julian.”

Alex gaped at him, disbelieving, then saw the glint in his eye. “You fucker.”

Jefferson laughed, a sound that Alex never thought he’d hear again. They looked at each other, the smile fading from Jefferson's face. “Alex… I’m not coming back to _Benedict._ I can’t.”

“I know.” Alex nodded quickly.

“But…” He watched Jefferson take a step forward this time. “Hey. You’re shivering.”

“It’s goddamn freezing out here.” Alex admitted through chattering teeth. He was only a few inches away now. He couldn’t stop looking at his face. It had always been the best view in New York City. Jefferson took another small step forward, and hesitantly rubbed his hands on Alex’s shaking arms.

The door opened and Angelica poked her head out. “Hey -- it’s almost midnight. Your, um… people are looking for you.” She paused, and tried to hide a smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll just…” She disappeared through the door again.

“So.” Jefferson cleared his throat. “Guess we better get back in there.”

“Ten… nine... “ Alex whispered.

“What are you doing?” Jefferson raised an eyebrow.

“Counting down.”

“It’s not time yet.”

“Time is a social construct.” Alex reminded him. “Maybe it’s 11:59 and fifty-five seconds on this balcony. Maybe everyone else in New York is watching the wrong clock. You can’t prove otherwise.”

Jefferson smiled softly. “You’re right. Go on.”

“Three… two…”

Jefferson tightened his grip on Alex’s arms and pulled him in. Their lips met -- and even though he closed his eyes, even though it wasn’t actually midnight -- Alex was positive he saw fireworks.


	12. Chapter 12

Aaron watched Julian start to trail after Jefferson in the direction of the balcony. He had only taken a few steps when he was intercepted by Madison. Clapping a hand on Julian’s shoulder and gritting his teeth, Madison asked Julian what his favorite productions of all time were.

“Oh, wow. Stage or screen? What about stage that have been _adapted_ into screen? You know what, I’ll start with least favorite and work my way up.” Julian started ticking off titles on his fingers, interrupting himself to provide commentary and behind-the-scenes trivia. Madison rolled his head back and forth to stretch his neck. He glanced over his shoulder toward the hallway where Jefferson had followed Hamilton, before sighing and settling into the monologue.

Aaron chuckled to himself without realizing it. Adams paused, a questioning smile on his face. “What’s so funny?”

Angelica had seen it too, and turned to face him with wide eyes. He cleared his throat. “Uh… just… remembering a joke Eliza told me yesterday.”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Eliza tossed out over her shoulder, breezily passing by while clutching two champagne flutes. She barely slowed as she reached Madison, pushing the drink into his hand as she kept walking toward the group dancing in the living room. He tossed back the contents in one. Aaron saw Julian gesture emphatically and take a few lumbering steps in place, barely catching the phrase “circle of life” in the pause between songs from the background music.

“Well. Maybe it was someone else.”

Adams nodded, absently scanning the crowd. “You know, I should see if Alexander’s okay…”

 _“What did the ghost say to the bee?”_ Angelica yelped, throwing her hands in the air.

Aaron and Adams turned to stare at her.

She swallowed. “Boo, bee.”

Aaron coughed slightly.

Adams took another step toward the hallway, and Angelica moved to intercept him. “I’ll find him. Actually, it’s almost midnight, so I’ll just make sure everyone’s ready for the countdown. Don’t move!” She hurried down the hallway, leaving Aaron to smile brightly at Adams.

“She’s a keeper.”

Adams didn’t give the impression he understood Aaron’s enthusiasm, but he nodded politely. “I’m glad you’re happy, Aaron. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he replied mildly. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Adams feigned ignorance.

Aaron stared into the middle distance. “I’ve been thinking about the past, lately. Today’s the day for reflection, right? And looking forward.” He glanced back at Adams. “Any resolutions for the new year?”

“Only one,” Adams stated confidently. “To get _Benedict_ in the best shape it can be in time for the Tony’s.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Aaron tipped his cider toward Adams.

“You’ve always been such a team player, Aaron. I hope I can count on your support over these next six months.”

Aaron smiled neutrally. “Of course. We wouldn’t be going to Broadway without you.”

“What _is_ the nature of the relationship between Alex and Thomas?” Adams asked, as though that had been their topic of conversation all along.

“Uh…” Aaron cursed inwardly. He had been lulled into complacency, but of course he couldn’t get through _one damn evening_ without Hamilton’s choices putting him in a difficult position. He knew the history between Adams and Jefferson, and it was becoming clear that Adams’ ego couldn’t handle the thought of his current partner having been involved with his former boyfriend. Aaron so did not want to navigate this particular minefield. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“You just told me I could count on you.” Adams reminded him, mildly. “I’m not blind, and for such good actors, they are terrible at hiding their emotions.”

Aaron pictured Angelica’s devastated look if he revealed that he had broken down and told Adams everything, betraying her two friends. He took a breath, and instead walked the familiar line of telling the truth without revealing too much. “Right. I think… there were some hard feelings when Jefferson left _Benedict_. Professionally speaking.”

“I see.”

Aaron got the impression Adams was lying in wait, coiled, ready to strike. He continued. “Alexander can be… expressive. I think you know that by now? Jefferson had some problems with Washington’s financial decisions, and. Well. Words were exchanged. Or, delivered.” Aaron’s mind was racing, and it felt like Angelica had been gone for an hour.

“So the tension between them is all about the show?” Adams looked dubious, but he seemed to unclench.

Aaron breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. “Yes, well, we put our whole lives into these productions... it can get passionate. Professionally speaking,” he finished hurriedly, forcing out a laugh.

Adams nodded. “I had heard… well, it doesn’t matter. Rumors only grow, so it’s nice to put any untoward suspicions to bed. Thank you for your honesty, Aaron.” Adams continued to stare at him as he took a sip of his drink. Aaron caught sight of Angelica moving through the crowd. He couldn’t help but feel that even though he had dodged a direct hit from this bullet, it had still brushed by, and at some point he would discover that he had been slowly bleeding out.

 

********************

 

Hamilton started toward the door, and Thomas grabbed his arm. “Alex -- wait.”

He turned around to look at Thomas expectantly.

“You probably shouldn’t walk back into that party wearing my clothes.” He smiled, uncertainly.

Hamilton shrugged, defiant. “I don’t see why not. They’re going to find out soon enough. Unless you’re planning on marrying Jordan.”

“Julian.”

“Whatever,” Hamilton mouthed, crinkling his nose at him.

Thomas rolled his eyes. He spoke calmly, even though his stomach was churning. “I’m just not sure we should make waves with Adams right now. I know him. I think until everything is all said and done with _Benedict_ … you should stay on his good side.”

Hamilton raised a brow at him. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.”

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. “He doesn’t like to feel like he’s lost control. I never even told him what I overheard that night. He’s too powerful, and believe me when I say my only option was to leave. I just don’t want anything to get in the way of what you’ve been working toward.”

“You want me to keep seeing Adams.” He said it slowly, seemingly to make sure Thomas heard it out loud.

“I would rather shower with a bear than watch you cozy up to Adams.” Thomas pronounced. “But it’s the path of least resistance. Have you seen him pissed off?”

Hamilton blinked, innocently. “No. I’m incredibly charming, so he mostly just looks starry-eyed.”

“Shut up.” Thomas tried not to smile. “If you haven’t seen it yet, you will, and he’s got your future in the palm of his hand.”

“I can handle being yelled at. Someone’s usually yelling at me.” Hamilton shrugged.

Thomas sighed loudly, frustrated. “You’re not getting it.”

“See? Like that.”

“He doesn’t _yell._ He’s subtler than that. Worst case… he convinced our director to replace the female lead of _Dianetics_ two weeks before opening night.”

Hamilton stared at him. “Why would he do that?”

“Officially? He didn’t agree with some of her acting choices, and she refused to budge, and then… one day we came to rehearsal and she wasn’t there.”

“And unofficially?”

“She and I had become friends, and I cancelled plans with him one night to get drinks with her. She was gone within the week. I can’t prove that was the cause, but… she stopped taking my calls the day she was replaced.” He had nearly forgotten that, whenever he thought back to the whirlwind of those last few months before he moved. He felt the anger, and self-doubt, rise in him again before he swallowed it back down.

“Washington wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t do that to me.” Hamilton crossed his arms.

“Are you sure?” Thomas pleaded with him, willing him to understand. “I didn’t know where the line was then, and you don’t, now. If you cross it, and Adams gives him an ultimatum, are you absolutely certain that Washington would choose you over the whole production? Would you bet your future on it?”

Hamilton paused, and looked back at Thomas for a beat. He raised his eyes to the inky sky, as if searching there for the answer, before reaching down to the hem of the sweater and pulling it over his head. He let it sway between them for a moment, and this time, Thomas reached out to take it.

“One condition,” Hamilton said softly. “This can’t happen again, to anyone else. I’ll do whatever I need to do -- within reason -- but I won’t let him join another show and hold anyone else hostage. We need to expose him and end this cycle.”

“Oh, look who finally came around to my side of the angel investor debate.” Thomas breathed, grinning.

Hamilton crossed his arms. “I did _not,_ it still makes the most business sense; Washington would _probably_ choose me anyway, I'm just being overly cautious. And besides, one bad apple--”

“Alex.” Thomas interrupted.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Thomas closed his eyes and took a breath. “I choose you,” he whispered. “I would choose you every time.” He swallowed and spoke more emphatically, opening his eyes to meet Hamilton’s. “I love you. Okay? I’ve loved you for… God, probably since the audition. You wrecked me. And I just needed you to know that, as I send you off into the arms of the man who ruined my life.” He tried to smile. He was pretty sure he missed the mark.

Hamilton’s chest rose and fell steadily. Satisfied. “Just since the audition? Took you long enough,” he murmured. He reached out, his fingers brushing Thomas’ cheek. “I’ve loved you since before you knew who I was. I told you, I’ll keep telling you, I never want to be with anyone but you. And as long as you don’t leave, I won’t be. This --” He gestured back to the party--“ is all acting. Just remember that.”

Thomas nodded, his eyes stinging. It must be the cold. He reached out to smooth Hamilton’s hair, ruffled from removing the sweater. “You need a haircut.”

He let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, well…”

Thomas pulled him in to wrap his arms around him, and murmured in his ear, “come to my place after the party ends. I’ll take care of you.”

 

********************

 

John watched Hamilton inconspicuously re-enter the room, while Jefferson emerged after a respectable delay. It was clear they had been together, but nothing betrayed the content of their conversation. The party had reached a fever pitch, and the clock ticked ever closer to midnight. He turned back to Laf, who was chatting with Eliza.

“Hey -- can I steal you for a minute?”

Eliza crossed her arms, acting affronted at the interruption. “I’m _trying_ to get to know your man here, so I can make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“Trust me, he’s way too good for me.” John smiled at Laf’s surprised expression, then turned back to Eliza. “Go find the prop master you were chatting up earlier; he’s been waiting for you to come back for like an hour now.” He took a sip of his beer and glanced to his left, where the smitten guy in question quickly looked away from their group, as he pretended to refocus on his conversation with the show’s choreographer.

Eliza chuckled. “Fine. I do like a man who knows how to handle his toys.” She sauntered off, slipping her hands in her pockets as she approached the prop master, using her chin to beckon him to join her by the window.

John turned toward Lafayette. “So. Having a good time?” He asked, casually. 

“Of course. I’ve heard so many stories about your friends, it’s nice to finally get to know them. Eliza is… I don’t think I know the right word in English.” He made a sort of exploding gesture with his hands and chuckled.

John laughed, nodding. “She used to intimidate the hell out of me, but she’s incredibly loyal. Which is a little ironic, considering our past…” He frowned.

“It’s not about where you start, rather where you end up, yes?” Lafayette tentatively smiled at him.

“That’s true.” He tucked his hands under his arms. “It’s just been so weird this year, you know? I never feel like I know what I’m doing, even though I do. Part of that was that I had gotten used to having you around all the time. Now I’ve had to make all these decisions, every day, without a sounding board. It’s disorienting.” He laughed again, nervously.

Lafayette placed a hand on his own chest. “John, if you are having second thoughts, I want you to be honest with me.”

“No! What? No.” John stepped forward. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The show, everything, has been this amazing blur… but I can’t help imagine how much better it would have been if you were there to experience it with me. I’m sorry for every second I took you for granted.” He looked down, afraid to read Laf’s expression. He started as Lafayette gently grasped his chin and raised his head so that he was forced to meet his eyes.

“Look around, John. We’re here now because of every one of those seconds. I don’t regret anything.” He paused, thinking. “Maybe I regret knowing about the thing you did with Alexander, in the laundry room that time? I could do without that specific--”

A throat cleared behind him. “Sorry to interrupt…”

John turned to face Hamilton.

Hamilton ran a hand through his hair. “Man. Heh, memories, am I right?”

John continued to stare at him, askance.

He quickly continued, chagrined, “I just, uh, I wanted to say hi to Laf, we haven’t had a chance to talk tonight.”

Lafayette smiled at him and gave him a quick hug. _"Salut,_ Alexander. Are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s had its moments,” he said dryly. “So, this is a thing now, eh?” He waggled his finger between them, grinning. “It’s about damn time.”

“And you’re with Adams? When did that happen?” John couldn’t help his accusatory tone, and mentally berated himself. The reaction was sharp and instinctive, even if the driving emotion behind it had faded to a blurry watercolor.  Hamilton was just that guy, for him. He would always be able to get under John’s skin.

Hamilton’s grin had faded, and he shrugged. “You know how it goes… we have a lot in common… long days rehearsing…” He spoke robotically, scanning the crowd. He did not sound like a man in the honeymoon phase of a relationship. The tone was a little closer to a man placing his last meal order on death row. He paused and regrouped, pulling on an expression that John was all too familiar with, when he wanted to convince his audience that everything was fine. “We’ve been a good support system for each other, you know? It took us both by surprise, but we’re happy.”

“Well, congratulations.” Lafayette broke in. “May he bring you half the joy that John’s friendship has brought me over the years, and maybe one tenth of what the past few days has offered.” John was rendered speechless as Lafayette winked at him. So this is what this was supposed to be like. He didn’t quite buy Hamilton’s speech, but it didn’t matter. That was officially not his problem anymore.

Hamilton nodded solemnly. “Absolutely, minimum 50% joy on the Laurens scale. Edging toward 55.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Laf, I can’t wait to see what you’ll do with _Caliban._ I heard a rumor that Lee is angling to get the show direct to Broadway in time for this year’s Tony’s.”

John shot Lafayette a sharp look. “Is that true? I hadn’t heard that.”

Laf threw up a hand. “That is the rumor. I haven’t heard anything for sure yet, but we should have an answer on the theater location by the time we get back from the break.”

“Damn.” John hadn’t considered the possibility that their shows would be competing for the same awards this year. He and Laf had always been on the same side -- not that it mattered, they would still root for each other. He wondered how Hamilton and Jefferson would fare as they faced the same conflict.

“Anyway, as I said, just wanted to say hi. And congrats, really. I hope you’ve found everything you’re looking for.” Hamilton looked directly at John as he finished speaking, and smiled slightly.

John wrapped an arm around Laf’s waist, and smiled back at him. “And then some. Thanks, Alex. I hope you have, too.”

Hamilton glanced at the television, the camera’s focus on the glittery ball poised to drop. “I’ll leave you to it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and headed back toward Adams.

John watched as he brushed by Jefferson, but they didn’t look at each other. If they had found the closure they needed during their private talk, maybe that’s why Hamilton seemed preoccupied. Or maybe there had been some heavy petting on the balcony and they didn’t want anyone to know. Whatever.

He focused his attention on the TV, chanting along with the crowd, “ten...nine...eight…”, glancing at Laf, nervous, remembering their first kiss a decade ago, how right it had felt, and how scared he had been to ruin the closest friendship he had ever had. He had never found the right words to talk about it or the right moment to try it again, until it was too late, until suddenly it wasn’t. Now, in this moment, they were here and they were together and _“three… two…”_

 

********************

 

“One… _Happy New Year!”_ Julian turned to Thomas, beaming, and threw his arms around him. All around, people were cheering, drunkenly making out, wiping the slate clean for another year. Julian pressed closer, seemingly forgetting that they were in a room with other people, and kissed him with a fervor that went beyond a New Year’s peck. Thomas hummed a protest, gripping Julian’s shoulders and blinking open his eyes. He immediately focused on the other side of the room. Hamilton had leaned in to kiss Adams, but didn’t bother closing his eyes. He was looking for Thomas. As their gazes locked, Thomas hummed again, involuntarily, almost a whimper. Julian took that as encouragement, and began kissing along his jawline. “Mmmm… Should we go? Want to come back to my place?”

“Julian--” Thomas more forcefully removed him, tearing his eyes away from Hamilton. “This has been… fun, but I think we should just be friends.”

“What?” Julian almost laughed. “Oh. Okay. That’s cool, I get it… totally.” He shifted on his feet for a second as Jefferson looked around for Angelica to say goodnight. “Hey, Thomas? If you really mean that… I was talking to the _Benedict_ choreographer earlier and we have a lot in common, so if you didn’t mind…”

Thomas coughed slightly to cover up a laugh. “Uh, no, go ahead. I’m going to head home, but stay as long as you like.”

“Cool! Okay, hey, see you in like a week for rehearsals, right? We’re gonna kick ass.” Julian grinned at him, then turned and disappeared into the crowd. Thomas shook his head and started making his way in the opposite direction.

 

********************

 

Angelica stood up on her toes as she pressed a chaste kiss to Burr’s lips. “Happy New Year, Burr.”

“Happy New Year, Angelica,” he replied. “I hope this is the first of many that we spend together.”

She wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his chest. “Why wouldn’t it be?” His arms tightened around her in response. She pulled away slightly to look at his face.

“Hey, is everything okay? I was hoping to see a repeat of the drunk Burr that swept me off my feet all those years ago,” she teased.  

He didn’t smile back at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… to be honest, it’s been a little difficult for me, tonight.”

Angelica’s smile faded in return. “Why?” She held her breath, the blood pounding in her ears. She thought they were celebrating… what if she was wrong? _What if he wanted to end it, what if Alex and Thomas were right about him all along...?_

He pulled her back into his chest, the beating of his heart disappearing in the bass pumping from the sound system. “It was New Year’s Eve, when my parents... Well, early New Year’s Day, I suppose. My sister and I were home with a babysitter. They were coming back from a party, and a drunk driver ran a stoplight. My uncle always said it was over in a second, so.”

She reared back again to look at his face, horrified. “Oh my god… why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me throw this party, and make you socialize with all these people, I never would have--”

“Angelica.” He had started to smile now. “I was two years old when it happened, so I never actually knew them. What I do know is doing this,” he gestured around them, “for your friends makes you happy, and all I want is for you to be happy.”

“But--”

“That’s not what affected me tonight.” He paused, and she took a breath, waiting. He wasn’t ending it. He wanted her to be happy. She wanted him to be happy. She threw a party on the anniversary of his parents’ death. _Nice going, Angelica._

He continued. “Once I became old enough to process the loss… I realized that the hardest moments are actually the beats in between the highs and lows in life. That’s when I would start to wonder. What do other people feel? How would I experience joy if my dad were there cheering me along?”

“Like graduating early from the university he once ran?” she offered.

Burr smiled slightly. “Or would any pain have been dulled if my mother had been there to share my burdens, to tell me everything would be okay? Would I have made different choices, knowing I would have to answer for them? Perhaps...” He didn’t finish the thought, and she stayed silent this time. He shrugged. “But that wasn’t how it went, and this is the life I have.”

Angelica felt her eyes start to fill with tears, but he smiled again, and lightly cupped her face in his hands. “Tonight, I was watching you, the amazing, complicated woman you are, and I just kept thinking about how I wanted them to meet you. Of everything I’ve done, that fact that I have somehow convinced you to love me is the biggest accomplishment I could have achieved. Maybe… maybe my choices will be different, now.”

She kissed him again, more desperately this time, and he responded, tangling his fingers in her hair. He kissed her cheeks, her damp eyelashes, her forehead.

“Happy New Year, Angelica.”

She smiled. “Happy New Year, Burr.”

 

********************

 

Alex forced himself to look away from Jefferson, already unsure about the plan to keep their rekindled relationship a secret. He hated every second that he wasn’t touching him. Refocusing, summoning all the emotion that Jefferson stirred in him and redirecting it, he relaxed in Adams’ arms.

“Well. This was a, uh, fun night. I’m kinda beat though… do you think we can get out of here?”

“Sure.” Adams dropped a deliberate kiss on his temple and released him, his arm repositioning itself around his shoulders. “Let’s find our hosts and say goodnight?”

The party had picked up again after the ball drop. Someone had dimmed the lights, and shadowy bodies swayed in time to the beat of the thumping music. There wasn’t any sign that things were winding down. Alex squinted into the crowd, looking for Angelica.

He spotted her standing close to Burr, Jefferson bending down to kiss her cheek goodbye. Julian was nowhere to be found, which Alex found curious, but he didn’t call attention to it. Instead, he focused on keeping his face Polite Neutral as he paused behind Jefferson.

Angelica said something to make him laugh, and he was still smiling as he turned around and saw them there. Alex felt his stomach drop at his expression, but brushed past him and hugged Angelica. “Thanks for everything tonight,” he said quietly in her ear. She nodded, just barely winking. He shook hands with Burr, and tried not to overhear the conversation happening behind him.

“Thomas--”

“I don’t think we have anything left to say to each other.”

“I disagree. I think a lot was left unsaid when you walked away.”

“We’re both happy now, why don’t we just leave it at that?” Alex could hear the discomfort in his careful tone. He suddenly, desperately, wanted to rewind eight years. Where would they be now, if he had made different decisions? If he had never auditioned for _Jesus Christ Superstar,_ he would never have had that whirlwind affair with John. Maybe John would have realized years ago how Lafayette felt about him; how Alex never could.

Maybe, then, Alex wouldn’t have gone to that sorority party in search of something he hadn’t realized he was missing. He wouldn’t have met Eliza. They wouldn’t have built a life together brick by brick, just to sit back and watch the cracks in the foundation widen, until one stormy day was enough to tear it all apart.

Maybe he would have been available, the night he had gone to see _Dianetics._ Maybe he would have sent that text to Burr, and gone backstage. He could have somehow saved Jefferson from Adams. He could have stopped him from moving to England. He could have convinced him to stay.

Alex suddenly realized that Angelica was watching him with a worried expression, and it brought him back to the present. _Angelica._ She never would have been a part of his life if he hadn’t gone to that party. She would be a vague memory from Thomas’ study abroad days if he hadn’t moved to England. She might still be married and she wouldn’t be with Burr now... Okay, he could live with that part.

Adams’ voice had lowered. “You owe me more than--”

Alex felt his fists tighten. “Ready?” he cut in, breezily. He would gladly pay whatever debt Adams thought Thomas owed him. He unclenched a hand and extended it. He led Adams out of the apartment, into the idling car, and through the celebrating city. He was calm. It was useless to imagine what could have been, because everything that had happened had been leading to this. His mind began racing, thinking three steps ahead, calculating every move. Intermission was over, and he was ready for Act II. It was time to go to work.


	13. Chapter 13

Alex steadied himself, flexing his hands and breathing deeply. He opened the door of the theater.

The usual sounds of the company warming up floated toward him, and he paused at the back of the house. They had begun their official transition to Broadway, and today was the first rehearsal in the new theater. It was massive. The first time they toured the theater, Eliza had gasped, and Burr had nearly authentically emoted. Alex had panicked. How could they fill this room every night? With Washington’s blessing, he had begun posting backstage snippets, teasers of songs, and photos of the cast on every social media account he could think of to get some free advertising for the show. It was working. His followers were growing by the hour, and they had already sold out the first month.

He forced himself to step forward. He was exhausted. Performing eight shows a week, and maintaining the pretense of a relationship offstage to keep Adams from torpedoing his career had just about brought him to his breaking point. Adams seemed content to mostly eat dinner together and talk at him about everything he wanted to do with _Benedict._ That was fine. He hadn’t had to cross a line he wasn’t willing to cross. With their conflicting schedules, he hadn’t seen Jefferson in ages. The days were getting warmer, but his bed felt colder every night.

Eliza looked up from her script as he passed, raising a finger. “Washington was looking for you.” She looked down again before he could respond, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Alex jumped on stage and made his way through the wings, in the general direction of the green room. Quiet conversation became audible as his footsteps creaked on the ancient floorboards. Burr’s voice made him slow, but it was Adams’ response that pulled him up short.

“...can’t be serious.”

“When have I ever joked about the Tonys, Aaron?”

“I did that for you before I knew any better, before I knew the consequences--”

“You did it for _me?”_ Adams laughed incredulously. “You won the highest honor a Broadway actor can achieve, you have the chance to do it again, and you’re complaining?”

"No, I’m not.” Burr’s voice was lower now. “I just feel a distinct sense of deja vu.”

“I have to admit there are parallels,” Adams said sardonically. “But Alex isn’t Thomas, he sees things the way I do. He’ll understand. Frankly, lately I haven’t seen the level of performance from him that I was expecting after the _Times_ review. In contrast, your Andre has been phenomenal.”

“Then maybe things will just work out--”

“Aaron… let me remind you that you wouldn’t be here without me. Your words. Not mine.”

There was a pause, then Burr said wearily, “What do you need from me?”

“I think you know.” Adams’ voice was barely audible. “As you said, we’ve been here before.”

Alex couldn’t hear anything else beyond the ringing in his ears, as adrenaline flushed through his system. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Never mind that they were plotting to sway Tony voter opinion away from him, this was the first time _Jefferson_ might be eligible for an award since he left the country. If the votes came down to Jefferson or Burr, Jefferson needed to win. Would Adams feel differently if Jefferson had stayed with _Benedict?_ Was this revenge because he left?

With what Alex wanted to say in response, he would lose his job before he got out a full sentence. Battling against his instincts, choosing flight over fight, he turned and found another route to the green room. As he slammed the door shut behind him, Washington raised an eyebrow. Laurens was seated across the table from him, and jumped slightly.

“What’s got you so riled up?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” In his sleep-deprived haze, Alex could practically see the last remaining thread that was barely tethering him to sanity. Burr was poised over it with a knife, and Adams was pushing down the blade.

“You want to pull yourself together? What did Burr do this time?” Washington rested his chin on a fist, looking down at his laptop screen.

Alex bit his lip. “It wasn’t just… Nothing I can’t handle.” _Talk less._ Laurens was watching him.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Alexander,” Washington replied placidly. “You know… we talked about this before Adams came on board.”

“I know. This is what we wanted. I’m doing everything I can to help the show succeed. I’m barely sleeping, I’m constantly marketing it online, I’m rehearsing every waking minute -- I’m even… I, you have no idea--” He cut himself off. _Well, that didn’t last long._

Washington sighed. “I do know.”

“You do?” Alex stared at him, but his expression didn’t give anything away.

“Yes. I just want to make it clear --  any extracurricular work you’re doing for the show is not a directive from me. You know that, right? I would never want you to… tweet at anyone, unless you wanted to do it.” Washington lifted his gaze to look into Alex’s eyes. Laurens glanced at Washington, one eyebrow raised, before also looking back at Alex.

Alex tried to respond but his throat had closed up. He cleared it and tried again. “Yes. I don’t, I’ve never done anything that I didn’t want to do.” Yet. And what if he did come clean with Adams, now? Tell him to go fuck himself in front of everyone, expose him and Burr for their duplicity?

 

_"Are you absolutely certain that Washington would choose you over the whole production? Would you bet your future on it?”_

 

Washington nodded briskly, snapping him out of his reverie. “I’m going to ask you and Burr to rehearse “Stony Point” today.”

“What? Why?” Of all the acts in the show, Alex had expected that that scene was least likely to change in the transition to Broadway. It was just down to the two players on stage -- minimal lighting effects, no elaborate musical arrangements. The power was in its simplicity. Washington had taken most of what Alex and Jefferson had brought to the scene during their audition, incorporated it, and then put some finishing touches on. It didn’t make any sense to change it now.

Laurens sighed. “Adams has requested--”

“Of _course_ he has.” Alex spat out the retort without thinking, and sucked in a breath. Washington eyed him carefully.  
  
“We just need to get through these next few months. If we get this right, we get to move on.”

“Move on?” Alex had been focused on _Benedict_ for so long that it hadn’t actually occurred to him to think about what came next.

“Yes.” Washington smiled pointedly at him. “Expanding to other cities, starting on the next show. Alexander… you won’t be Benedict Arnold, playing both sides, forever.” Laurens coughed slightly.

Alex ignored him and shook his head, gathering up the rage and disbelief he felt when he walked in the room. He could use it to prepare for the scene with Burr. He stood up. “Well, I am today. We should get out there so we can get started.”

Washington leaned back in his chair. “You go on ahead.”  
  
“You’re not coming?”

“Let Adams give his input. We’ll get it right.” Washington spoke calmly, eyes once again trained on his laptop screen. Alex looked at Laurens, who bit back a smile and nodded. He leaned forward and resumed the conversation with Washington Alex had interrupted, which seemed to center around reinstating several changes to the opening number that Adams had opposed.

Alex carefully retraced his steps, pausing in the wings just offstage. Burr was standing downstage left, a spotlight trained on him. Clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt, the brim of his baseball cap caused the bright stage lights to cast a shadow on his face. His posture was bowed. Weary. Alex took the final step that brought him onstage, and Burr turned toward him, straightening. The spotlight blinked off, and adjusted to the familiar lighting for this scene.

“If your great umbrage would care to meet my high dudgeon at twelve paces, I would be happy to entertain you at dawn," Alex muttered under his breath. When he spoke those words to Jefferson, they were playful, the glimmer of a beginning. Now, he meant them as a promise to finish something.

“Ah, Alex - there you are.” Adams sat in the front row, smiling up at him, as though they were partners. As though ten minutes prior, he hadn’t been scheming to manipulate Alex’s career, the same way he had manipulated Jefferson’s. He wanted to leap off the stage and punch him in the mouth. He smiled back and winked.

“Right, so I think we should just go ahead and dive in… I’ve spoken to George about some of my ideas, so I’ll just be sure to stop you when we need to make any adjustments. Mmmkay? Off you go.”

Alex didn’t move. Burr looked him over, frowning slightly. He could tell something was wrong, but Alex knew he wouldn’t make a scene, that this wasn’t the time or the place to discuss it. Besides, what was left to discuss? Burr had won. He, along with all of them, would always be an original Broadway cast member that created this show. Their voices would live on beyond their telling of the story. Why couldn’t that be enough? Why did Burr still see this as a zero sum game, and choose the path that would make Alex lose?

Burr took a breath. Alex heard the opening line, and instead of his usual rapid fire response, he paused. Rather than reacting as though Jefferson were there, which was what he had always done, he took the time to look Burr over from head to toe. He observed. As always, Burr played Andre’s every movement as calculated, every note predetermined. Arnold stood in opposition, and Alex needed to show it. After a breath, he looked somewhere over Burr’s head and tossed off his line, almost carelessly.

He could see Burr struggling to adjust, the wheels of his Stanislavski training spinning in his brain. He couldn’t read Alex’s emotions, didn’t understand where he was coming from, and it showed. Adams stopped them several times, making sophomoric suggestions to ramp up the tension. Alex never even glanced at him. He couldn’t split his focus. Eyes up. He closed a fist and closed the scene, warning Burr to be careful traveling through enemy territory. _Try to find where the villain is good._ He had tried for so long. He was done.

 

*********************

 

Crouching and gasping slightly for air, Thomas nodded his thanks for the water bottle Julian nudged into his hand. The choreographer had been pushing them to their breaking point. Everyone was acutely aware of the accelerated deadline for opening night, now that Lee had managed to negotiate access to a Broadway theatre. Previews started in three weeks.

Lee’s temper made rehearsals onerous at best, but Thomas found that if he just started ignoring him and directed all communication to Lafayette -- in French -- Lee would holler impotently for a while before finding some other way to occupy himself. Lafayette was hesitant to engage in this exercise at first, but he quickly got on board when he saw how effective it was. Sometimes they would just talk about their favorite 80s movies while gesturing emphatically at the script until Lee gave up and stomped off in frustration. Then Lafayette could quickly translate Lee’s directives into an efficient rehearsal schedule.

Regardless, they still had the Sisyphean task of launching a Broadway-ready musical in less than a month. It didn’t help that the more Thomas rehearsed, the more disconnected he felt from his character. Despite the fact that this production was the realization of all his professional dreams, Thomas started wishing he could take a shot every time he heard Lafayette’s voice declare, _"_ _une dernière fois_ \-- uh, one last time, please, everyone, then we can take a break.”

After another run-through, the company scattered like mice before Lafayette could ask them to try it again. Thomas found himself alone on stage. He checked his phone. A few messages from Angelica and Madison, a few emails, but nothing from Hamilton. He hadn’t expected it, since he knew he was working just as hard to prepare for _Benedict'_ s opening night. Still, the absence of his touch, virtual or otherwise, was starting to wear on him. A shadow fell over him and he looked up, startled. He thought he was alone.

 _“_ _Ça va bien_ _,_ Thomas?” Lafayette was smiling down at him.

Thomas nodded. “Just tired. Mostly.”

Lafayette sank down next to him. “Mostly?”

Thomas drummed his fingers on the water bottle. “Honestly… I’ve been having a harder time connecting with this character than I thought I would. André jumped off the page at me. I just, got him, you know? The more time passes, the more I’m struggling with Caliban.”

Lafayette looked mildly surprised. “Really? It doesn’t really show. What are you struggling with?”

Thomas sighed. “Caliban’s whole journey is about trying to connect with other people, right? He’s been literally exiled, alone on an island for so long. But, I guess I found that when I was alone for so many years… and now, I am again…” he inserted hurriedly, “it’s easier that way.” He looked at Lafayette. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all be left alone? If we didn’t need other people to make us happy? Why is this guy searching for the thing that ultimately always brings us pain?”

Lafayette searched his face. “This is why Shakespeare asked the question, and we are still asking it, centuries later.”

“Guess we’ll never know, then.” Thomas took another drink of his water. “Anyway. You have enough to worry about, I’ll figure it out.”

“Was it worth it?” Lafayette asked casually.

“What?”

“When... you weren’t alone. Was it worth the pain the followed?”

Thomas pressed a hand to his eyes.

 

_Hamilton groaned at the sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtain, and curled into a fetal position. “Too early. Make it stop.”_

_“Stop the sun?” Thomas grinned, scooting behind him and wrapping an arm around his waist. “If I did, there might be ramifications beyond your extra hour of sleep.”_

_“Worth it.” Hamilton mumbled, but grasped his wrist to pull him in tighter. “Worth all the pain, planet-wide calamity and terror… call your people, make it happen.”_

_“It’s good to have official confirmation that you actually do believe the world revolves around you.” Thomas brushed his lips just below Hamilton’s ear, making him shiver slightly._

_He was silent for so long that Thomas assumed he had drifted off again. His thoughts moved on to his to-do list, and he checked the clock, calculating how much longer he could spoon Hamilton until they absolutely had to get up. He treasured these few stolen seconds, before Hamilton was fully awake and bounding full-speed ahead through his day. The opportunity to just share a quiet moment together was so infrequent, fleeting. Thomas was nearly lulled back to sleep himself when Hamilton spoke._

_“I thought I had made it clear what my world revolves around.”_

_It took Thomas a moment to rewind back to their conversation. “What?”_

_He sighed, quietly. “You.”_

 

Thomas dropped his hand from his eyes, feeling raw. “Yes. No matter what happens, it was worth it.”

Lafayette briefly smiled. “As someone who also spent many years without a partner, in the strictest sense, I understand what you said about how it’s easier to be alone. But, you find your character by finding what you relate to personally, no? Perhaps your struggle is because…” Lafayette paused, before continuing. “Because you are keeping the part of yourself that still feels the connection locked up inside you. If you have found the answer to your question… maybe you need to bring him into the light.”

Thomas stared at him. _Did he know? No, he couldn’t know._ He hadn’t met Hamilton in public since the New Year’s Eve party. Between rehearsals and Thomas’ paranoia that Adams would find out, they had barely seen each other at all. By all accounts, he was just an ex who was still very much dating Adams.

“Everyone has their journey, and yours isn’t mine to judge,” Lafayette continued. “I just want you to know that my personal... light... is very observant, and is specifically well-versed in observing Alexander.” Lafayette shrugged, patiently. “I’m told his public relationship is not authentic.”

Thomas was starting to feel a little sick, and took another sip of water. “It’s not what you think.”

“I think you deserve the happiness that Caliban also seeks. And selfishly, I want you to connect with this character so we win a few Tonys.” Lafayette winked, and stood up. “Maybe you should try standing outside of his house with the boombox over your head, _non?”_ Lafayette raised his hands above his head in demonstration, eyes twinkling as he crooned off-key. _“Without a noise, without my pride… something something...In your eeeeeyes…”_

Thomas laughed, flopping back on the stage. He stretched his arms over his head. “Don’t quit your day job, Laf.”

Lafayette put a hand over his heart. “You wound me.” He nodded at Thomas’ prone figure. “We start again in ten minutes, so you have nine minutes left to take a nap.”

They both heard Lee bellow Lafayette’s name from somewhere backstage. Lafayette raised his eyes to the rafters. _“Merde,_ it’s going to be a long night.”

 

********************

 

Angelica quietly entered the back of the theater, slipping into a seat next to Eliza, several rows behind Adams. The Met was preparing for a new installation, so she had been working overtime lately. She and Burr had arranged a late dinner once he finished with rehearsal, since they hadn’t seen each other in a week.

Even entering mid-scene, she could tell something was off. Hamilton was usually cocky in his portrayal of Arnold, bordering on arrogant. Tonight, he was resigned. There was apprehension in the set of his shoulders, and he acted as though André was a wasp, circling in preparation to sting him. Angelica watched him steadily ignore Adams’ interruptions.

“Maybe you could almost shake your fist at him there, let him know you’re _really_ angry.” Adams shook his own fist to demonstrate. Angelica and Eliza exchanged side-eye glances. She expected Hamilton to let him know how stupid that idea was, but Hamilton just stayed focused on Burr, and left his hand by his side.

“What’s going on with him?” Angelica whispered to Eliza.

“I stopped trying to answer that question a long time ago,” Eliza murmured.

The scene ended. Laurens appeared as if from nowhere to immediately intercept Adams, seemingly to prevent him from making any further suggestions. As Hamilton turned to leave the stage, Burr reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve. Angelica watched him look down, and then slowly raise his eyes to meet Burr’s gaze. Her boyfriend released his grip, but stepped closer to say something. Hamilton shook his head and laughed, without any trace of amusement. Burr repeated his statement urgently, and Hamilton paused for the briefest moment before quietly responding and jumping offstage, down the aisle toward Angelica. She waved a hand at him when it seemed he was about to walk right past her.

Hamilton stopped, his face a study in angst. “Sorry… I didn’t see you there. Here to meet Burr?” He spat out the name like it was poison.

Angelica gaped at him. “Uh, yes? Is that okay?”

“Nothing I say on that subject will change your mind.” Hamilton looked behind him to see that Burr was approaching, and continued down the aisle, tossing over his shoulder, “enjoy your night.”

Washington appeared on stage, and called out for everyone to reset for Eliza’s breakdown scene. Eliza sighed and raised her eyes to the rafters. “Lord, give me the strength.” She made her way to the stage.

Burr slipped into the seat that Eliza had vacated, and gave Angelica a brief kiss. “I’m done for the night. Ready?”

Angelica forgot about Hamilton for a moment and glanced back toward the stage. “Oh… okay. Can we wait til Eliza’s done? I like this part.”

Laurens had flopped into a chair, barely hiding his frustration. Burr smiled grimly. “We could, but Adams is going to keep stopping her to make ineffectual suggestions. I don’t recommend it.”

“Is he the director now?”

“He likes to think so,” Burr muttered. “Washington will fix it, but trust me, you don’t want to see how the sausage gets made. When you see it actually performed, it’ll be worth the wait.”

Angelica acquiesced, and took the hand he held out to her. Angelica thought they might run into Hamilton in the lobby, but he had disappeared. The door clicked shut behind them just as Adams called out, “okay, now remember, you’re going _really_ crazy here…”

They started toward an Indian restaurant a couple blocks away. She squeezed his hand. “Hey -- what was going on with you and Alex at the end there? I thought you two had been getting along better lately.”

Burr’s grip tightened in response. “I thought we had, too. He’s always been… mercurial, but something was different today.”

“He seemed pretty upset. Are you sure…” She trailed off.

“What?”

Angelica hesitated. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to, but maybe you said something…” Burr looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “I’m not taking his side or anything! Just, with all the history between you…”

Burr pressed a thumb into his temple. “I didn’t say anything to him. But I’m concerned he might have overheard something that upset him.”

Angelica stopped on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. “What?”

He turned to face her. “It wasn’t what it sounded like. And he won’t listen to me. I’ll explain everything, but I need you to talk to him. Maybe you can convince him. Do you trust me?” He looked into her eyes.  She didn’t hesitate.

“Of course. What do you need me to do?”


	14. Chapter 14

Opening night. Broadway. Seventeen hundred miles and a lifetime away from where he started.

Alex stood in the wings. He heard a board creak behind him and prepared himself for Adams’ hand squeezing his shoulder. “Ready?”

He breathed out slowly. “If I weren’t, would you go out there for me?”

The hand fell away. “What’s wrong with you?”

Alex glanced over his shoulder at Adams’ hardened expression. _Shit._ “Nothing. Just jitters I guess.” A few weeks ago, in a moment of frustration for the situation he had gotten himself into, Alex had passive-aggressively asked Adams when he was going to introduce his boy-toy to his family. He thought Adams was going to have an aneurism. He quickly apologized, smiled and kissed him in the way that had assuaged a number of pissed-off partners over the years. It worked temporarily, but he knew he was running out of time.

For the first time in a while, he really listened to the synopsis of his character’s early life, summed up in less than four minutes in the opening number.

Benedict Arnold grew up in financial privilege, but the money couldn’t protect him from the early deaths of three of his siblings. He and Alex had lost their mothers when they were just around the same age. Arnold’s father chased comfort in the bottom of the bottle -- Alex’s father chased Get Rich Quick schemes he could never catch. Two centuries apart, just two more children whose options vanished before they escaped their teen years. They each chose the only way out they could see, not knowing what the future would hold.

“You know you can talk to me. I’m here to help you.” Adams' tone was clipped.

Alex turned and wrapped his arms around him. “I know you are. Thank you.” He stared unseeing into the wings, wondering what Jefferson was doing at that moment. He hadn’t told him that he had overheard Adams lecturing the alternates that they had to be ready, just in case something happened to a lead. He had changed Jefferson’s contact to a different name in his phone, because he couldn’t keep it on him when he was on stage, and Adams might find an incoming text. He was trying to stay one step ahead, never knowing if it was enough. Meanwhile, _Caliban_ was set to debut in a few weeks, just two days before the cutoff for Tony eligibility. He had no idea if they would be ready. He heard Adams say his name.

Madison cleared his throat and gently grasped Alex’s arm, murmuring “excuse me,” as he began fiddling with the cuff on Alex’s sleeve. Adams fell back, and Madison brushed nonexistent lint off Alex’s shoulder. He continued making small adjustments to Alex’s costume until Burr spoke the line that prompted Arnold’s entrance. “There. All set.” He met Alex’s eyes and smiled slightly, standing sturdy and immovable. Adams peered around him toward the stage, muttering, “wait a minute… Laurens assured me we would change that part. Where the hell is Washington?” Alex nodded at Madison, smiling back, before stepping onstage and two centuries back in time.

Thoughts of Adams fell away. For as long as he could remember, he had gotten through life by clinging to the moments where he could pretend to be someone else. But tonight, he performed as though Jefferson were sharing the stage with him. As though his mother sat in the front row. As though he could prove to Washington that, through every word he uttered and every gesture he made, he was worthy of the legacy of creating this role.

 

_Alex briskly walked along the river, slowing as he approached the bench where Angelica sat watching the waves lap against the shore. Without taking her eyes off the water, she patted the space next to her. “Sit.”_

 

As Alex stood catching his breath in the wings, Burr courted Eliza onstage. She glowed, blossoming under his attentions, shedding the years of life’s disappointments to become nineteen again. He thought of the first time he had seen Eliza perform this scene with Jefferson. He wondered if Angelica now felt the same as he did then, watching her with Burr. They looked like they were in love. It was so easy to believe the facade, more difficult to convince his eyes to look beyond the surface, to the truth of the matter. But it was all just acting.

 

_“What am I doing here?”_

_“You know what.”_

_“If this is about Burr--”_

_“It’s always been about Burr. I don’t think I quite understood that, all this time. Him and you. You and him. But he’s not your enemy, Alexander. It’s time to break the cycle, don’t you think? Or else history… well. You know the rest.”_

 

Alex burst back onstage as young Benedict Arnold joins the Sons of Liberty, to serve his country, to be a part of something, to leave everything behind. Blow after blow from men he trusted led to the hardening of his spirit that hastened his decline. _Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall._ He served his country with every fiber of his being, only to be passed over for recognition time and again. He was destined to be one of America’s greatest heroes. His name was now synonymous with traitor.

 

_“Angelica, you don’t understand--”_

_“Oh, I understand. Better than you do. Why do you assume you have all the answers? When will you figure out you're not always the smartest in the room?"_

_"We're not in a room."_

_"Shut up."_  
  
_"I never think that, though." Alex dropped his grin and turned toward her. "Believe me, I know someone will always be smarter, or quicker, or just plain luckier, and I'll need to kick even harder to rise up and keep my head above the water."_

_Angelica finally turned to face him, her expression soft and open. "You need to stop talking and listen, Hamilton.”_

_Alex raised an eyebrow._

_She looked into his eyes. “Burr isn’t sabotaging you. And you may not want to believe that because of everything that’s happened, but I can prove it.”_

 

Alex took a breath, the action swirling around him like a current. He could feel Burr watching him from the wings. He remembered the motivation for Burr’s choices five years ago, how he felt that Alex was passing him over for jobs that belonged to him. He did what it took to survive.

On stage, Arnold is severely wounded in battle. He survives.

 

_“Fine. I’ll bite.”_

_Angelica reached into her pocket to remove a phone, but turned back to face the churning water. “Do you remember the last time we were here? The four of us were coming back from dinner, celebrating her birthday. It was such a nice night… we stopped at this bench and you asked someone to take a picture of us. I thought you might propose. So did she.”_

_Alex bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands knitting together. “I loved her, you know.”_

_She nodded. “And I loved him. If only that could have been enough.”_

 

As the British lose Philadelphia, André leaves the city and Arnold arrives. Alex entered from upstage right and Burr from downstage left, crossing center stage before continuing on their separate paths. The opening chords of ‘Unchangeable’ sounded as Peggy begins her courtship with Arnold at André’s request.  

Alex watched Eliza’s performance for the first time in months. He found himself in awe of her command of her body, her voice, how she breathed life into a woman that had been dead for hundreds of years. In that moment, he remembered how he had loved her. He watched Burr’s -- André’s -- singular focus on getting his enemy on his side, willing to sacrifice everything for his cause. Individuals screaming into the void have changed the course of history. Just when it seems no one is listening, sometimes, someone answers the call, and everything changes. This was one of those moments.

 

_Angelica passed him the phone. It was open to a series of screenshots of text conversations between Burr and Tony voters -- Alex felt his temper flare as he recognized the names of members of the Actor’s Equity, the Theatre Wing, the Guild -- Burr was campaigning, exactly as he promised Adams he would._

_Except…_

 

_Burr: The show is a feat in translation of centuries-old text to modern storytelling, and Jefferson carries the torch._

_Burr: You’ll see for yourself._

_Burr: Hamilton has exceeded everyone’s expectations as Benedict Arnold. He inspires me every day._

_Burr: Don’t take my word for it, read the reviews._

_Burr: If you get pressure from anyone else that your vote should go to me, you should reconsider._

 

_Alex looked up to meet Angelica’s gaze. “Why would he do this?”_

_“He felt he had something to prove. He’s trying to make things right.”_

 

He faced Burr for ‘Stony Point’. Alex had found the balance -- he knew what to do. As he finally stopped fighting him, they settled into a rhythm that mimicked the friendship they might have had. If things had been different. If they hadn’t been broken in so many of the same ways before they had first met. They had always understood each other better than anyone else could, which was why the wounds they inflicted cut so deep. For the first time, on Broadway’s opening night of _Benedict,_ they showed the world what that kinship looked like.

Alex’s last note of the song sounded. Silence hung in the air of the massive theater. He and Burr remained frozen, chests heaving, not breaking character. With their eyes locked on each other, Alex saw that Burr was confused, too. Was something wrong? Should he…

The applause burst out like a tsunami hitting the shore. Alex jumped, and Burr quickly turned upstage, hiding his smile. The orchestra had to play several extra bars of the start of the next number while they waited for the fervor to die down. They crossed each other to leave on the opposite sides of the stage they had entered, and Burr reached out to gently touch his shoulder as he passed.

 

_“He tried to tell me. After rehearsal that night, he said…”_

_“That’s why I’m here.”_

_Alex was quiet for a while. Angelica stayed by his side. When they needed her most, she was right on time._

_“I guess I was wrong to warn you about him.”_

_“Oh, he’s got his flaws. Frankly, you’re all idiots. But I love you. And him. I just want you to see each other for who you really are.”_

_"Thank you." Alex stared down at the phone, then slowly stood up as his mind started racing. “Who we really are… I need to talk to Burr. I know how we can finish this.”_

 

After the dinner party where Arnold’s betrayal is revealed, Eliza took center stage for ‘Hysteria’. André’s subsequent death scene meant Alex had a short break until the final number. He was digging through a mini-fridge for a bottle of water when he felt a hand touch his back. He grunted, “guess you won't need to go on stage for me after all.”

"Pretty sure my _Caliban_ contract frowns on that.”

Alex whirled around. “Thomas!” He threw his arms around him, then quickly stepped back, scanning the wings. “Should you be here? Aren’t you supposed to be--"

“I’m supposed to be right here,” Jefferson cut in smoothly. “I convinced Laf to give me an hour off so I could catch the second act. Actually, he sort of convinced _me_ that I needed to see you.”

“What?” Alex glanced around. “Does he--?”

“It’s fine.” Thomas pressed a kiss to his temple. “I just needed to remember how much you inspire me, and you need to know that, tonight.”

Alex’s brain was trying to catch up. He was performing on Broadway… critics and Tony voters were watching… people who never believed Broadway was for them were watching… _Thomas_ was watching. He was an inspiration to _him?_ Oh, and he had to tell him about Burr... 

“Thomas--”

“I never thought you could surpass what you did off-Broadway, but damn, Hamilton. The big leagues suit you.” His drawl was more pronounced when he was trying not to smile.

Alex felt a grin spread across his face, and everything fell away but Jefferson. He reached forward to brush his knuckles against Jefferson’s cheek. “I want to do so many filthy things to you right now.”

“Seconded,” Jefferson said, his eyes scanning Alex’s body. “But you have a show to finish, and then an after-party to attend.”

Alex felt his smile fade. “With Adams.”

Jefferson shook his head. “Not for much longer.”

A stage hand walked by briskly, and Alex stepped away from Jefferson.

“Thank you for coming. Really. It’s been… a long time, since anyone has come to support me.” He heard the sound cue that meant the finale was about to start.

Jefferson nodded. “I’ll be here till the end. I’ll need to go right after, though, so…”

“It’s okay. I’ll see you… sometime.” Alex tried to smile.

“Soon.” Jefferson glanced around, and gripped his hair tightly to pull him in for a kiss. Alex whimpered.

“You can’t do that to me right before I’m about to go on stage.”

“Channel that frustration into how Arnold feels about the motherland,” he murmured.

“Horny...?” Alex said absently. “Oh shit --” Jefferson didn’t quite release his grip in time as Alex sprinted over to the wings, just barely making his cue. His scalp throbbed a little.

The story was written long ago, so the finale is the culmination of Benedict Arnold’s tragic arc. He leaves behind the country he loved; the one that betrayed him and he sold out in return. He dies a stranger in a strange land. After over a year plus the previous three hours of preparation and perspiration, Alex poured everything he had left into the final five minutes. He thought of Jefferson arriving in England nearly a decade ago. The knife wound in his back still healing, leaving behind his life to start a new one, he couldn’t have known what the future held.

_Me. It held me._

Eliza took his hand, and he squeezed it slightly. She squeezed back twice, and he looked at her, eyes wide. She met his gaze and smiled. It was a signal they had once shared, a way to say “I love you” when they were in public, just for the two of them. He felt his own smile grow, until he laughed out loud.

They bowed as a company to the standing ovation. Eliza stepped forward, then Burr, then Alex. The noise was deafening. He looked to his left, as Jefferson pressed two fingers to his lips and turned them towards him. He glanced to the other side -- Washington was watching, beaming. Alex tilted his head up, closing his eyes, a woman’s laugh echoing in his memory.  He faced forward, took a breath, and bowed, one last time.

 

********************

 

John scowled at the swirling coffee grinds in the glass carafe, futilely lifting and depressing the plunger. “Why aren’t you _normal?”_ He bellowed at the contraption.

Footsteps approached. Lafayette calmly rinsed out the mess John had made with the French Press, and started over. He gave John a wide berth as they waited for the water to boil. When Laf finally handed him a mug of liquid heaven, John took a sip and followed him back to the bedroom in much better spirits.

“I’m sorry I yelled at your weird coffee maker.”

“Tell that to him. He responds better to praise and gentle touches.”

“Don’t we all.” John placed the mug on the bedside table and sat down, pulling Lafayette’s laptop closer and opening a browser window. “It just seems like cruel and unusual punishment to broadcast these things at the crack of dawn--”

“It’s 8:30.”

“--when they _know_ we’re not morning people; if we wanted to know what the sun looks like we would have gotten jobs that didn’t require a windowless building with quitting time at midnight on a good day…”

“Shh, they’re starting.”

Lafayette had joined John back in bed, and he poked at the button to increase the volume. John leaned forward.

“...thank you for joining us for the 72nd Annual Tony Award nominations.  And now for this year’s nominees. The nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in Play are…”

John nodded in agreement with the choices. He knew a few of the actors that were nominated, but he didn’t have a horse in those races. Next came the Best Performance by an Actress in a Musical. He held his breath.

“Jennifer Crawley, _And So It Goes_. Miranda Engleton, _Morning After._ Elizabeth Schuyler, _Benedict...”_

John whooped, nearly spilling his coffee. “Careful…” Lafayette admonished him, but he was smiling, too. John was already reaching for his phone to text Eliza.

“...Rebecca Fisher, _Caliban.”_

John glanced at Lafayette. “Woo for you too?”

Laf nodded. “Of course, I’m happy for her. You won’t hear me say this outside these walls, but… I’ve seen both productions. I am secretly rooting for Eliza, too.”

John started tapping out a message, grinning. “I’ll text her that right now.”

 _“Non,_ John, don’t you dare--” He grabbed for the phone and John held it out of his grasp.

“Shhh, they’re doing Actor.” They both stilled, staring at the screen.

“...Jonathan Andrews, _And So It Goes_. Aaron Burr, _Benedict._ Alexander Hamilton, _Benedict._ Thomas Jefferson, _Caliban."_

Lafayette let out a low whistle. “Well, this should be interesting.”

“And who are you rooting for now, you Judas?” John stated, faux-indignantly. “Andrews? It’s probably Andrews,” he finished, muttering.

Lafayette grinned and mimed zipping his lips.

Best Play and Best Revival of a Play were announced as John pressed send on his text.

 

John: Schuyler!!! WORK

Eliza: I’m honestly shocked. I didn’t know if this would ever happen.

John: Better believe it sister! Tonys here you come!

Eliza: Oh, I meant you being up so early

 

Lafayette nudged him, as the announcement for Best Musical started. To neither of their surprise, both _Benedict_ and _Caliban_ were among the entries.

With the major categories covered, the announcer continued. _Benedict_ racked up nomination after nomination, as John grew speechless. Best Book, Best Original Score, Best Choreography, Best Orchestration, Best Costume Design. He knew the show was special. He’d seen it night after night. He’d witnessed the crowds growing to catch a glimpse of the cast at the stage door, he’d monitored the increase in ticket prices from the resellers. He just still somehow wasn’t prepared. After today, those ticket prices would shoot into the stratosphere.

“Best Direction in a Musical: George Washington, _Benedict._ Charles Lee, _Caliban.”_

“I wish you could be nominated and win everything instead of that numbnuts,” John burst out.

“John, it’s okay. This isn’t my turn. I’ll get there. What is numbnuts?” Lafayette frowned.

John sank back against the pillows, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I can’t believe this is happening. We’ve been working for so long… I mean, whatever. They’re just dumb awards.”

“Right. It’s an honor to be nominated.” Lafayette looked at him, solemnly.

“Yes. That.”

They were silent for a moment.

Lafayette’s phone buzzed, and he glanced down.

“Sending Lee a congratulatory text, too?”

“I would need something stronger than coffee to get me through that. No, that was Thomas.”

John turned onto his side, smushing the pillow under his neck. “I still can’t believe you’re friends with that guy. He’s so… broody.”

Laf chuckled. “He’s not, when you talk to him. He’s a good leader for the cast. They trust him, and he keeps the energy going even when he wants to drop. He’s funny, too.”

“Why don’t you just marry him then,” John grumbled.

Lafayette scooted down, pulling John in and lightly kissing the tip of his nose. “Not my type. He’s never once yelled at coffee. His socks always match.”

“Every day?”

“Mmm. And I mean, his French vocabulary actually extends beyond the phrase ‘I would like a Coke, please.’”

“What else could you possibly ever need to say, once you get your Coke?” John let his eyes drift closed again, secure in Lafayette’s arms. He didn’t actually think Laf was interested in Jefferson. He just still couldn’t believe the turn his life had taken over the past year. Sometimes he thought it was all too good to be true, and he would suddenly wake up.

As he fell asleep, Lafayette’s response came in a soft voice. “I can’t think of anything. Besides _je t’aime.”_

 

********************

 

Thomas looked at himself in the mirror, slowly straightening his tie. His hands shook a little.

He turned away from his reflection abruptly and pulled on his jacket, fastidiously securing the button. He reached for his phone and stared at the open text, even though he could still see the words whenever he closed his eyes.

 

Adams: Good luck tonight, Thomas. You know I’ll always be here.

 

The screen changed to a blinking phone icon, startling him. Hamilton was calling.

“What are you doing?” He was whispering, even though he was alone in his apartment. “Are you--"

“He went out to pick up his tux from the dry cleaners. We have a few minutes.”

Thomas ran a hand through his hair. “You’re at his place.”

“Getting ready.” There was a pause, and his tone turned mischievous. “So...what are you wearing?”

Thomas rolled his eyes and looked down at himself. “What do you think?”

“How does it fit?”

“Hamilton…”

“Just answer the damn question.”

Thomas smiled for the first time all day. “It fits perfectly. My best friend is a clothing designer.”

“Of course. I remember how you looked the last time Madison dressed you.” His voice was punctuated, as though he were jogging someplace. He heard a door shut.

Thomas sank down on his bed. “Oh?”

“Mmmhmm. In your dressing room, after the review came out? But if I recall correctly, you didn’t finish what you started that night.”

Thomas leaned back, his feet on the floor. “I’m pretty sure that you and I have both finished a few times since then.”

“Well. You still owe me one.”

“Is that right.”

The phone pressed to his ear, Thomas’ other hand drifted down his body, to his inner thigh. He had been wound so tight and running on fumes for so long; he didn’t realize how much he was craving a moment of relief. He closed his eyes as Hamilton continued talking in low tones.

“In just about an hour, eight million people are going to be looking at you in that tux, and I’ll know what they feel. I’ll know, because I felt it the first time I saw you on stage. You got a taste of it the first time we spoke at the audition. Do you remember?”

Thomas’ grip tightened on the phone, and he fingered the button on his pants for a moment before releasing it.

“All those people will be watching you, and they won’t be able to take their eyes off you. But they’ll never know what I feel when I wrap my hand around you, watching your body react to my touch.” He drew in a ragged breath. “They don’t know how gorgeous you really are, when you’re surrendering control, when you finally take a break from arguing with me and let me give you the pleasure you deserve.” Thomas heard him release the breath, and he could practically feel it ghost across his lips. “Can you feel it, Thomas?”

He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. “Yes.”

“Good. Those eight million people, they can look at you. They can imagine whatever they want. But they can’t have you, because you’re mine. I’m the only one who gets to touch you, to feel you move inside of me…”

His breaths were coming in shallower now, and Thomas bit his lip as he tried to muffle his moan.

“They don’t know how it feels when I kiss that spot under your ear, when I take my time working my way down your body, worshipping every inch of you… they don’t know what you can do with those lips… they don’t know that I’m helpless when you pull my hair and kiss my throat…”

“Oh God, Alex...” He could barely get the words out. Hamilton’s voice fell further.

“I’m the one who knows how you sound when you’re getting close. When you try to hold on to your control, but you can’t, because you’ve never stayed quiet when it mattered. Don’t be quiet, I want to hear you. Thomas… I want to be the one to make you come.”

Thomas gasped, pleasure coursing through his body, Hamilton’s name half-formed on his lips. He took a deep breath to control his racing heart and collapsed back against the bed, coming back to himself.

“My God. I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Did what? I was just talking.” Thomas could tell he was smiling.

There was a pause. “Thomas…?”

“I’m here.”

“I need to tell you something, and I wish I could do it in person, but I can’t put it off anymore.”

Thomas stilled. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry for that day… When you found out _Benedict_ was going to Broadway. I should have heard you out. I knew how you felt about it, and I lied to you because I was positive I was right and you would come around.”

Thomas carefully washed his hands and straightened his clothes. “I know why you did it. And I know that presented with the same set of circumstances, you would do the same thing all over again.”

“No--”

“Alex.” Thomas could practically hear him struggling not to interrupt. “You took a stand and fought for what you believed in. Not only that, but  _Benedict_ was your shot, so you couldn’t let anything get in the way. You think I don’t get that, but I do.”

“It wasn’t just about--” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I was so damn mad at you for not seeing things my way.”

“Well, the good news is that’ll never happen again,” Thomas said dryly.

Hamilton chuckled.

Thomas stared down at the dated carpet, the circular pattern repeating as far as he could see. “I need to apologize, too. I went behind your back to meet with Lee. I know you feel about him the way that I feel about Adams, and I did it anyway without talking to you about it.”

“Which you did _because_ of your history with Adams. You were trying to warn me that the angel investor could be the devil in disguise.”

Thomas stood up. “You couldn’t have known why I reacted as strongly as I did. I should have told you.”

“Are you seriously arguing with me over who was the most at fault for our fight?”

“Annnd you’re mad at me again,” Thomas drawled.

“Well stop being so infuriating.”

“You were wrong about something else, too,” Thomas interjected.

Hamilton sighed dramatically. “Unlikely, but continue.”

“You said I first felt something for you at the audition.”

He paused. “Didn’t you?”

“Hang on.” Thomas put the call on speaker, then scrolled through his saved images and sent one to Hamilton.

There was another pause, then he replied, “okay… Is this from some interview I did about _Julian Kaiser?_ Yikes, check out that hair.”

Thomas smiled. “I looked you up when Madison told me you were auditioning for _Benedict._ I expected… I don’t know what, exactly. But I kept thinking about this look on your face, and…” He rested a hand on the back of his neck, staring at the image. “I just wanted you to look at me like that.”

“You did?” His voice was soft, disbelieving.

“I thought it would go away. But it didn’t, and then Angelica said… well, that part isn’t important,” he hurried on, “and I figured it would be easier to hate you anyway, because the last time I felt anything like that… then I saw you that day, and you know the rest.” He wished he could see Hamilton’s face. “But the audition wasn’t where it started. It was just the point of no return.”

“Well, if I have to be wrong, I’ll take that.” He still sounded a little dazed, then his voice sharpened as he called out, “just finishing...yeah, almost ready!”

Thomas swallowed. “I’ll see you in a little while?”

“Don’t worry, everything’s set. This will all be over soon. And I can’t wait to watch you win a Tony. You aren’t ready for how I’m’a look at you.” Hamilton was whispering now.

He smiled wryly. “I think I missed my shot, but I’ll be there to watch you win yours.”

“I love you.” His home screen flashed on and Hamilton’s voice was gone. Thomas re-buttoned his jacket. He smoothed the sleeves as he looked in the mirror again. His hands were steady now. Showtime.


	15. Chapter 15

The red carpet was a blur, quite literally -- the camera flashes were blinding him, and the din of the crowd screaming his name meant that he wasn’t able to hear much else. Alex couldn’t believe this was really happening. He made his way to his seat -- _front row --_ he noted wildly, and Adams sat down next to him, smoothing his hair. The broadcast was due to start any minute.

“I wanted to tell you, Alex…”

“Mm?” He knew it seemed like he was barely listening. In reality, every nerve was on end; he was lying in wait.

“I just wanted you to know, I’ve found another show to invest in, so I may not be around as much. _Benedict_ is going to pay dividends.” Adams shook his head modestly. “I just couldn’t let this new opportunity slip by. The book is fantastic, and they’ve found some incredible talent. There’s a young man who graduated from film school a couple years ago, but found that his passion lies with theatre. The director sent me his tapes. I’m going to take a meeting with--”

“No, you’re not.” Alex sighed out the interruption, almost casually.

Adams paused. “Pardon me?”

Alex turned to face him. “You’re not going to take that meeting. Or any meeting, with any artists, ever again. You will never make another desperate actor compromise his sense of self for the bottom line.”

Adams’ face started to flush. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this.” He reached into his pocket and hit send on a queued up text comprised of a dozen screenshots, and Adams reached for his own phone in return. Alex watched his face redden further as he read the messages.

 

Adams: Thomas, please talk to me. I miss you.

Jefferson: Aren’t you with Hamilton now?

Adams: Don’t think about that.

Jefferson: What am I supposed to think about?

Adams: Think about how it felt when we were together...

Jefferson: You mean like when we used to argue, how you would tell me you could arrange it so that I’d live in a basement forever and ‘never work in this town’ again?

Adams: You know I didn’t mean that.

Jefferson: Do you even realize that you mostly speak in cliches?

 

Adams looked up, furious. “How did you get this? You don’t talk to Thomas. I would have--”

“You would have known? Why, because he would have told you? Or you would have found something when you snooped on my phone?” Alex looked at him, bemused. “Keep reading, you haven’t gotten to the best part.” Adams kept staring at Alex, but he wouldn’t blink first. He was better trained at schooling his expressions, and he was angrier than he’d ever been. Adams gave in and slowly dropped his eyes to his phone again.

 

Jefferson: So what do you think about? Do you miss how I would just lay down for you and do whatever you told me to do?

Adams: That’s very hurtful. You didn’t do anything you didn’t want to do, don’t say it like that.

Jefferson: I had no idea what I wanted. I do now.

Adams: I want you, Thomas.

Jefferson: What about Hamilton?

Adams: I was wrong about him. I thought he’d be like you, but he’s not. He’s more… outspoken than I expected.

Jefferson: He’s not as easy to bend to your will as I was, you mean.

Adams: Stop, please.

Jefferson: So it’s over with him?

Adams: Not yet, but it will be. I’m hoping you’ll come back to me.

Adams: But if your mind is made up...

Adams: Thomas, please answer me.

Adams: Good luck tonight, Thomas. You know I’ll always be here.

 

Adams forcefully deleted the messages. “You naive little pissant. What’s the point of all this? I’ve been bored with you for a long time, so if this is your way of ending it--”

“Once again, you can’t read a room, Adams. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Then what?”

Alex scanned the house, the anticipation and exhilaration ebbing and flowing around them. “How lucky for you that you were born into privilege. That your options were limitless; that you were able to turn money into more money. You get to travel every year to islands -- like the one where I was born -- where the people who don’t have the resources to leave aren’t allowed inside the walled resorts. Unless we’re the help, of course.”

Adams shook his head dismissively. “Save it. I’ve worked hard for everything I have, and _don’t_ make this a race thing. I’ve got friends and dated people from every shade of the rainbow--”

“You’re a walking Benetton ad.” Alex looked at him. “You lost interest in me as soon as you realized I didn’t fall for your Daddy Warbucks spiel. So now you want to move on and take advantage of someone more vulnerable, like Thomas was.”

Adams rose to his feet, hovering over him. “That’s enough,” he hissed. “You little brat. You have no _idea_ what Thomas and I had, and now you’ve poisoned his memories.”

“Wrong again. That was all him.”

He continued as though Alex hadn’t spoken. “You were just a waste of my time and money. Eliza Schuyler discovered that first, and I should have learned from her mistakes.”

“Sit down, John,” Alex cooed, swallowing the gut punch of that truth and breathing through it.  “I’m not finished.” He waited until Adams sat again, after realizing that the people seated around them were looking at him curiously.

Alex continued, calmly. “If you take that meeting, or convince another director that their show can’t run without your cash and truly horrendous ideas, I’m publishing these messages.”

“Publishing?” Adams raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve written a pretty compelling op ed, if I do say so myself, about the pros and cons of Broadway’s angel investors. My agent sent the idea to some editors in publications you may have heard of. Just trying to gage interest... but you know what? Turns out my name is starting to mean something to some people these days, and they’ve all replied, enthusiastically. All I need to do is hit send.”

Adams rolled his eyes, dismissively. “These texts could have been faked. Anyone with photo editing--"

“True,” Alex agreed. “I mean, very few people require a burden of proof to form their opinions anymore, but even so -- the thought crossed my mind, too. We are similar in many ways, don’t you think?” He smiled at Adams. Adams didn’t smile back. “In any case, it’s a little harder to fake a voice recording.” Alex sent another message, and waited. Pausing for a beat, Adams slowly lifted his phone to his ear and pressed play on the audio message. Alex had it memorized.

 

_“Well? Did you do it?”_

_“I contacted Tony voters like you asked me to do, Adams.”_

_“Jesus. You’re acting like you just came back from digging up a body. Your reservations are duly noted, Burr.”_   
_  
“I just don’t think you should try to influence this process again. The award should go to the person that deserves it, not to the designee of the people in power.”_

_“How precious. How very opposite of how the world works. And let me remind you, Burr, I haven’t forced you to do anything. Any choices you’ve made are your own.”_

_“I know. The last time, I was too young and blind to see the consequences of my actions. This time… it just didn’t feel like I had a choice.”_

_[shuffling noise] “Don’t be dramatic. I need to speak to Washington, so we’ll talk later.”_

 

Alex could only hear snippets over the din of the crowd, but he could see the moment Adams realized what he was listening to. What Alex didn’t point out was Burr’s careful wording in the conversation, telling the truth without the whole truth, making his audience believe what he wanted to believe. Alex made a mental note to ask him how he did that.

Adams lowered the phone as the house lights blinked, signaling one minute until the live broadcast.

“So I think there are enough details here that you’d want to keep your family and investment partners from finding out? Oh, and one more thing,” Alex continued, adrenaline fueling his bravado. “Every check you cash from _Benedict_ will be anonymously donated to a New York City youth arts program. Thomas has put together a list of his favorites, so we’ll just work our way through that.”

“Blackmail. Classy.” Adams was almost slumped in his seat, the fight gone out of him.

“I’ve done worse.” He eyed Adams up and down, almost laughing at his enraged expression. “So. We’re clear, here? Your benevolent Broadway investments are a thing of the past.”

There was a pause, and Adams ground out, “you’re wrong about me. I’ve put so much of my time and resources into Broadway because I believe in it, and more importantly, I have always had real feelings for Thomas. Okay--” he quickly inserted as Alex made a show of opening his email-- “we’re clear. You win.”

“Great.” Alex nodded and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Oh… and if you try to contact Thomas again, I might get pissed off enough to hit send anyway. Dig me?”

The lights dimmed and an announcer welcomed the crowd to the annual Tony Awards, saluting excellence in theatre. Burr and Angelica slipped into the seats on Alex’s other side, and he saw Burr glance at him out of the corner of his eye. He allowed a small smile and nodded slightly.

A camera operator had positioned himself directly in front of Alex, ready for reaction shots. Sandwiched in between his first friend and his enemy, he slipped ‘delighted’ onto his face, clapping for the start of the opening number.

  


********************

  


Light flashed off the glittering costumes while the host belted out an original medley, but Aaron barely noticed. He knew that he did what he could to make it a fair contest. Hamilton had shut down Adams for good. Now they had to wait and see what would happen. He allowed himself to be swept up in the grandeur of the night, remembering how hollow and uneasy he had felt the last time he was in this room. Tonight, he had Hamilton and Angelica on either side, anchoring him. He never could have predicted it.

After several awards were announced, the _And So It Goes_ cast performed their number. The melody and choreography were a touch plebeian, but the actress threw herself into it. Aaron felt bad she had to do so much work to rise above the mediocrity. Polite applause ushered last year’s winner for Leading Actress in a Musical to stand self-consciously in front of the microphone, listing the nominees for the next award.

“...Broadway’s women have created some of the most memorable moments in theatre, and this year’s nominees are no exception. The winner for Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical is…? Elizabeth Schuyler.” The presenter beamed and clapped around the opened envelope in her hand. The _Benedict_ section of the audience erupted in cheers, mobbing Eliza as she stood. An orchestral version of _Benedict_ ’s opening number played as Eliza ascended the stage.

“I never… um, thank you so much.” Aaron had never seen her speechless before. She quickly regrouped, thanking the writers, producers and all those who were involved with the production. “Angelica -- my sister, my best friend--” her voice wavered a little, “words will never be enough, and if I have created anything worthwhile in this life, it’s because of you. George, John -- you’ve given me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you’ve given a generation the soundtrack for our time. We owe you a huge debt. Finally, to my amazing parents -- your generosity through the Schuyler Foundation has provided so many artists with the ability to make their dreams a reality. We all need more of that, these days. Thank you.”

As Eliza exited the stage, Aaron reached over to take Angelica’s hand. She gripped back. “We used to make up games… while other kids were like, drinking and smoking in their parents’ basements, or whatever normal kids did, we would imagine these whole worlds, playing different characters and acting them out. She’s wanted this her whole life, and now she has a Tony.”

“Thanks to you, apparently.” Aaron lightly kissed her shoulder. She shook her head in disbelief, blinking back tears.

The production halted for a commercial break. Aaron was startled as Adams immediately stood up and stalked toward the back of the theater without a word. Hamilton watched him go, his shoulders tense.

Angelica didn’t seem to notice, releasing a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle this emotional rollercoaster tonight. Look at where we are… this is nuts. Oh God, and we still have Best Actor to get through.”

Snapping to attention, Hamilton suddenly leaned around Burr, eyes wide. “So who do you want to win that one, hmm? Angelica… buddy… Think about all the good times we’ve had…”

Angelica pursed her lips, considering the question. “Hm. Sorry. Nothing’s coming to mind.”

Hamilton gasped. “How dare you. My date just abandoned me and my family is dead and stuff, so now there’s no one left to root for me at all.”

Angelica rolled her eyes, as Aaron raised an eyebrow and pointed to himself. “Not very effective to play sad orphan in front of this audience.”

Hamilton scoffed, but there was a gleam in his eye. “I will play any character I choose, Burr, and I’ll keep beating you out of every part. And every Tony, to boot.”

Aaron nodded calmly. “Right, well so far only one of us has one at home, so…”

Angelica sighed, digging in her purse for her lip gloss. “You two are the worst. I am definitely rooting for Thomas.”

 

*********************

 

Thomas sat with the _Caliban_ cast and crew on the other side of the theater from Hamilton and Adams. He practiced breathing exercises to keep his blood pressure down, as people he recognized and people he didn’t kept approaching him to congratulate him on his nomination. He knew that his show didn’t have much of a chance of winning anything, what with _Benedict_ ’s well-earned buzz, but he was proud of it anyway. He just needed to know that Adams was finished and out of their lives after tonight.

He checked his phone for the fifteenth time since he found his seat, just as the lights dimmed.

 

Hamilton: It’s done. Full surrender on all terms.

 

Thomas exhaled, examining how he felt. He felt...alive. Free. Like he had finally secured the happiness that had eluded him for nearly three decades.

 _Caliban_ took its first loss of the night. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be their last, but he was happy for Eliza. The show went on.

“The winner for Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical is…”

Thomas tried to ignore the camera in his face and willed the presenter to speak the name. _Alexander Hamilton, say Alexander Hamilton._

“...Thomas Jefferson: _Caliban.”_

Thomas didn’t quite process the words as the company erupted on either side of him. Julian threw his arms around his shoulders, then pulled him up to nudge him toward the stage. “Go! Hope you wrote a speech.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t.”

“Well, I guess you’d better think of something to say. At least you look flawless. All eyes on you, gorgeous.” Julian winked and resumed clapping enthusiastically.

Thomas blindly made his way toward the stage, accepted the trophy, and faced the massive audience. He did this every night, but public speaking was a little more terrifying when he wasn’t speaking someone else’s words.

“Uh, wow.” _Brilliant, Jefferson. One for the history books._ He tried again. “Each of us...” he cleared his throat, scanning the _Benedict_ section of the audience. Angelica was straight up crying, her hand over her mouth. Beside her, Burr was grinning, and quickly flashed an “ok” sign with his hand. He locked on Hamilton. Just as he had promised, he was leaning forward, gazing at Thomas like he was on the other end of that photo. For a moment, he was transported back to an overheated coffee shop cocooning him from the pounding rain. _I wonder if I’ve ever been that enthusiastic about anything._ He had the answer now. He would never see the world through Hamilton’s eyes. But the world still spun, the sun had chased the rain away, and Hamilton was his shelter now.

“As ‘theatre people’,” he smiled briefly, his voice doing the work of putting air quotes around the term, “each of us has traveled our own long, winding path to make it here tonight. How many demons of self-doubt have we beaten back? How many steady paychecks have we turned down, just for the fleeting opportunity to do what we do?” A wave of chuckling rose and fell in the audience. “We leave it all on the stage, every night, because the show might close tomorrow.” Thomas glanced down at the heavy piece of metal in his hand. “I am standing here now because of the hard work and sacrifices of those who came before me, and of those who surround me every night. I hope I’ve done enough to make them proud.”

He looked directly into the camera. “Now our choices will shape the opportunities for the next generation. What kind of future do we want for them? What kind of art will we fight for? What sacrifices will we make for it? What can you and I do to leave the world a little better than we found it?”

The seat on Hamilton’s left was vacant. “I’m appreciative of so many people -- James, Lafayette -- but…this is all for you, Alex.” He unconsciously pressed a hand to his chest. “Thank you. For challenging me, fighting for me, and making my world better than where you found it. I promise I’ll make you proud.”  

The _Caliban_ theme played him off the stage as the stage crew hurried to rearrange the set for the next performance. He knew that he had basically outed himself to the world, to his extended family, to his parents’ conservative friends watching in Virginia, and he didn’t care. He stood in the wings, holding his award awkwardly, trying to figure out if he should just… put it down somewhere? He was performing soon.

One by one, people started approaching him to congratulate him. They wore shy smiles and overenthusiastically gushed about his performance. He didn’t think most of them had seen his show. Thomas kept scanning the crowd while smiling graciously, thanking each one in turn. He didn’t know these people. He could barely process the last ten minutes. Someone asked for an autograph. A voice murmured, ‘excuse me’ as Hamilton pushed through the wall of well-wishers and knocked a grunt out of Thomas as he hurled into him and kissed him, hard. 

 

********************

 

 _Benedict_ swept the remainder of the awards. John’s face hurt from grinning as Washington accepted his Best Director award. “Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this journey. John and Alexander -- my right-hand men.” John reached forward to squeeze Hamilton’s shoulder, and Hamilton placed his hand on John’s, twisting slightly in his seat to smile at him.

Best Costume Design -- John remembered the seemingly endless meetings, Washington’s maddening attention to detail and Madison’s patience at drawing and redrawing sketches until he was satisfied. He remembered the moment the company gathered for the first time in dress, and how he had gasped out loud as the arresting visual.

Best Scenic Design -- The _Benedict_ set designer and property master casually thanked Eliza in the midst of other names. John turned towards her meaningfully, but she stared straight ahead, a slight flush to her cheeks.

Until, the suspense expended, _Benedict_ won Best Musical. The entire company ascended the stage in definitive confirmation that the physical pain, exhaustion, arguments, stress, euphoria, laughter, and triumph were worth it. They transitioned easily to the after-party, high on their victory.

John spotted Lafayette in conversation with Jefferson and Charles Lee. He gritted his teeth and approached, but saw Hamilton reach the group before he could greet them.

“Hamilton. Congratulations on your… nomination.” Lee deliberately paused, underscoring the loss.

Hamilton nodded in acknowledgment. “It’s been an honor working with a world-class director and crew. They really understand how to put together a production without solely resting on the tireless work of their stage manager to fulfill their duties, you know? I couldn’t be happier that Washington won tonight.”

John choked slightly, then took the final few steps to stand beside Hamilton. “Well-put, Alex. Going from _Julian Kaiser_ to _Benedict_ really has been the difference between the JV and Varsity league. At least,” he finished purposefully, “that is the metaphor I would make based on what I know from pop culture. And I would know for sure if I had ever played sports.” Lafayette nodded encouragingly at him from behind Lee’s back.

Hamilton turned back to Lee, glaring. “And another thing, _Charles_ \--”

“Charles, good to see you.” Washington’s smooth voice cut through Hamilton’s pent-up vitriol. John was equal parts disappointed and relieved. “And congratulations, Thomas. I never had a doubt -- and I can’t wait to see what you’ll achieve in the future.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jefferson’s expression didn’t give anything away, as usual, but John thought that he might have been affected by the praise. Then again, who knew with that guy. Maybe he was thinking about how much laundry he had to do tonight.

“And to you, George. What a night.” Lee smiled simperingly.

“I’m so proud of everyone involved. Our jobs are easy when we recognize the talents of the people around us, and continually listen to allow the best ideas through the noise.” Washington gestured at him. “Of course -- you’ve had the opportunity to work with John and Alexander. I know I wouldn’t be here without them. Wouldn’t you agree, Charles?”

The four onlookers turned to face Lee in unison, barely containing their glee. Lee paused for a socially inappropriate length of time, then bared his teeth. It might have been a smile. “Of course, George. They are… something. Maybe we should team up next time, since we both seem to be at the top of our game.” He raised an eyebrow.

Washington extended a hand to shake, winking. “I have my hands full with _Benedict_ at the moment, but I always keep my options open for the future. Have a good night, Charles.” He made a graceful exit to continue his progress through the crowd.

Hamilton lowered his voice. “He’ll never work with you, Lee. Just thank whoever is watching from above that Thomas and Lafayette agreed to tell your story. You wouldn’t have a show without them. Washington created something that will live on for years after we’re gone, and that’s something you will never be able to do.” 

Lee rolled his eyes. Jefferson stepped forward to guide Hamilton away from the conversation, presumably before he said something he would actually regret. Lee called after them. “Yeah, we all seem to carry on just fine when you’re gone, Hamilton. I barely remembered your name. So who would possibly care to tell your story?”


	16. Chapter 16

“Eliza?”

Eliza started, suddenly acutely aware of eight pairs of eyes staring at her. “Hm?”

The photographer shifted the weight of her DSLR, two more cameras draped around her neck. She gestured with one hand. “Would you mind moving in closer to Alexander?”

“Oh, sure.” She shuffled in next to Hamilton, as he settled his hand around her waist. They both faced the camera, forcing smiles on onto their faces again.

“Okay, one, two...smile!” The photographer peered down at the screen. “Great, I think that’s a wrap on you two.”

Eliza breathed out, stepping free of Hamilton’s _warm familiar strange_ embrace. He cleared his throat and murmured, “hey, thanks for… the other night.”

She looked around them, raising an eyebrow. “You want to talk about that in mixed company?”

He chuckled. “Word will be out soon enough. I just... never thought you’d be a part of my story again. I’m glad.”

Eliza smoothed the front of her dress, for something to do with her hands. “I am too. Alexander…”

“Yeah?”

She paused.  “Nothing. Just thinking how lucky we are.”

It had been one year and three months since the Tony awards.

 

_“Thanks for coming.” Hamilton looked nervous, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other. He brushed a hand over his mouth and nodded briskly. “Okay, so, I guess you’re all wondering why you’re here.”_

_His audience sat in their chairs silently, glancing around at each other. The last time they had all been in a room together was nearly a year ago, at the Tony Awards. The last time they had all been in this room specifically, Jefferson had quit_ Benedict. _He now leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Eliza couldn’t tell if he was trying to get comfortable or getting ready to bolt._

_Burr seemed unruffled. They had all received the same cryptic text last night asking them to meet at the theater, but they knew better than to ask him for details. Laurens had texted her three question marks. She sent back a gif of Harry Potter shrugging. Laurens now slipped into the room, trailed closely by Lafayette. Eliza assumed Lafayette had dragged him out of bed to book it across town, judging by his accessories: a giant coffee mug and an even larger yawn._

_“Hey, guys. So, as I was saying,” Hamilton continued, doggedly, “Eliza, Burr and I are coming up on the end of our contract at_ Benedict _. I’ve been thinking… what comes next? I can’t speak for any of you, but for various reasons that we don’t need to relive in gruesome detail right now, I found myself wanting to take charge of my destiny. I don’t want to… to sell out to the highest bidder, ever again.” He smiled uncomfortably, and met Jefferson’s eyes. Jefferson remained impassive. Eliza was not surprised._

 _“So here’s the deal.” He pulled out six stacks of paper, and passed them around. Typed on the front page of each pile was_ Untitled Hamilton Project. _They all looked down at their papers, then back up at him. “I asked you all to come here for a table read.”_

_“What?” Burr almost laughed._

_Jefferson was flipping through the pages. “Wait...you wrote this? When did you have time to write this?” He looked up, bewildered._

_Hamilton smiled at him, slowly. “I don’t sleep much.”_

_“I’m aware.” Jefferson was looking back down at the script as Hamilton watched him. Eliza had overheard Angelica tell Burr a few months ago that she never knew two people who argued so much could be so ridiculously happy together. Jefferson’s expression didn’t appear to shift, but Hamilton’s close observation must have yielded some piece of information, as he relaxed, and his gaze shifted over to Burr._

_“If you had told me six years ago that we would be here today…” He grinned._

_Burr quirked an eyebrow. “I guess in comparison to where we’ll be in three months, this isn’t so unusual. Let’s see what you’ve got.”_

_Hamilton acted affronted. “What? I’m the perfect pick for your Best Man! I’m eloquent, I know how to keep a party going, and I mean I know all your secrets so there’s always that little bit of fear that I’ll slip up and say something embarrassing in my speech, and what’s a wedding without dramatic tension?”_

_Burr started to look concerned. “Alexander--”_

_“Train’s left the station, Burr. You took a risk, now you get to see how it plays out. Don’t worry, Thomas and I are going to get you guys a kick-ass toaster.”_

_Burr’s fears didn’t look entirely assuaged as Jefferson shrugged. “It’s okay. It toasts.”_

_Hamilton turned to Laurens. “John. I was hoping that if you like the script, this might be something you could see yourself… And Laf…. I know this is a lot to ask.”_

_Laurens had also started scanning the pages. He looked up. “Direct or stage manage?” Lafayette blinked, looking back and forth between them._

_Hamilton met his eye. “Direct.”_

_“What about Washington?”_

_Hamilton shook his head. “He’s working on expanding_ Benedict _across the country. This one is for us.”_

_Laurens nodded. “Let’s go.” Lafayette swallowed a smile and picked up his script._

_Hamilton breathed out and looked at Eliza. “And I was thinking you could…”_

_“Yeah, got it,” she interrupted. She had scanned the cast list as he worked his way through the group. “Ive narrowed down my options to reading for ‘Betsy’, the sole woman lead? Fucking male writers…” She muttered._

_He laughed, chagrined. “There’s more than one, but okay, point taken. What I need you to know is that I can’t picture anyone else but you in this role. I know I don’t deserve your talents, but I need you. Just read it?” He was almost pleading. “That would be enough.” Eliza found herself unable to speak. She nodded once._

_He sat down on the edge of his chair, his leg bouncing up and down. Lafayette read out the stage directions to set the scene, and they were off._

_Eliza felt simultaneously like they were back at the_ Benedict _table read, and like they had traveled light years beyond that day. She recalled how angry she had been to see him there, sauntering in like he owned the place, because he did. Everyone seemed so_ happy _to see him, and they were pleased to see her, they were, but their faces just_ lit up _when he hugged them hello. He had always been that way, and she didn’t think he even realized it. It’s what drew her across the room to him the night they met, despite the fact that Angelica had seen him first. It’s what allowed her to open the door to him when he came back after blowing her off that night, against all of her best judgment._

_It’s what kept her holding the door open long after she should have slammed it shut and thrown away the key. It’s why she would never admit to anyone -- not even Angelica -- that even though he would never return, she kept that door cracked for him, and would until her dying breath._

_She had watched him fall a little bit in love the day of the table read, and she died a little bit more as she watched Jefferson fall right back. Stoking the flames of anger can beat back the darkness of grief, and she flirted hard with the new object of his affection, wanting him to hurt a little. It did. She had been glad. She watched Jefferson fight against the fall, just as she had done, just as Laurens had before her, but she knew it was only a matter of time._

_She didn’t fight now. She had laid down her sword during the opening night of Benedict, and she found herself falling for this new character. She was smart. She was a survivor. She was… wait, what was that line? She had said that before, to Hamilton. Whispered in a private moment, she thought it had been lost forever. She looked up at him. He smiled._

_Then further down, that rapid dialogue… it reminded her of something. It was the same rap battle that Jefferson and Hamilton had had on stage during a break in rehearsal. Jefferson recognized it; he paused before continuing, his expression softening. Burr remembered, too. He glanced up at Jefferson, who continued, delivering his next line locked on Hamilton’s reverential expression._

_They were telling his story._

 

********************

 

“You know,” Eliza said through her teeth, a false grin plastered on her face, “it wasn’t strictly your turn.”

“Okay thanks ladies, I think we got everything we need!”

Angelica dropped the smile, thanking the photographer in turn while massaging her jaw muscles. “Ow. I feel like I’ve been smiling for days. What did you say?”

Eliza shrugged, picking up the hem of her gown. “I said it wasn’t your turn, you little queue-jumper. You already got married once.”

They walked down the gravel path toward the patio, the warm summer breeze carrying a wayward strand of Angelica’s hair over her eye. She blew it away impatiently.

“Believe me, I never imagined I would do it again. Ever. Like, ever.”

Eliza smiled as they carefully maneuvered on their heels through the grass toward Burr, who was waiting patiently on a bench. He stood at once as he watched them approach.

“But you’re happy now, right?” Angelica asked, searching Eliza’s expression.

She met her sister’s eyes. “There was a time I couldn’t imagine being this happy. Could you?”

Burr extended a hand to Angelica. Eliza had never found the right words to describe how he looked at her, but she often tried, just so she could embarrass them both. It was like… he had discovered the cure for cancer. Or stumbled across Atlantis. Or learned that his childhood pet really _had_ gone to a farm upstate and was waiting there for him. The thing was, he did it whether she was wearing a wedding dress or whether she was wearing glasses and fleece pajama pants. And Angelica would readily deny it, but she looked at him the same way. She was looking at him that way now, betraying her earlier claims that smiling was starting to hurt.

Eliza adjusted Angelica’s dress, checked her makeup, and then joined the reception to wait for the announcement of the couple. She spotted her date talking with Laurens, and she grabbed a mojito from a passed tray on her way over.

“Hey, you two.”

Laurens winked at her. “Hey. I’m just taking this opportunity to make sure that Ben here is good enough for you.”

Ben feigned despair. “I’m _really_ not, but don’t blow my cover, man!”

She liked him. She more than liked him. There were moments that she believed this could be the one, the way it had felt in the early days with Hamilton. It had taken her a long time to open up to the possibility, and part of her still believed he would leave someday, but she had decided to give it a try. She had survived the hurricane before. She could do it again. She took his hand and squeezed it.

The layers of irony of Hamilton in the role of Burr’s Best Man were dizzying, but naturally, he dazzled the crowd as he delivered his speech. He managed to rewrite the story of their friendship, glossing over the ugly moments while finding the kernel of truth in his long-held admiration and respect for Burr. Eliza didn’t think he would have been able to resist shocking the crowd with any one of the anecdotes that peppered their long relationship, but he showed admirable restraint. Burr breathed a sigh of relief when he finished, looking startled as Hamilton drew him into a tight hug.

For her own speech, the second one she had delivered in Angelica’s honor, the words flowed. She had never quite believed that Church was right for her sister. Tonight she realized she could talk about the couple, together, and how she could honestly see them last a lifetime.

With the dance floor full, she spotted Hamilton slip away from the crowd to walk over to the bar.  She leaned in behind him, lowering her voice. “Nice speech.”

He turned, surprised. “Not too bad yourself, Schuyler. You’re getting a lot of practice giving speeches these days though. And hopefully you’ll be giving another one soon.” He winked.

She feigned confusion. “Getting wedding fever? I won’t be your best woman, Alexander. That’s a bridge too far.”

He laughed. “No, I meant--”

“I know what you meant. We have a long way to go before the show is up and running, though. But I could offer my opinion on the titanium versus platinum ring for Jefferson in the meantime?”

“Ha, uh, no. I’ve… no, I’m all set there. Thanks, though.” He swallowed.

“Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind,” Eliza said breezily. “Hope you’re going platinum, for the record. It’s classic. The other is a little played out.”

“What’s played out?” Jefferson had approached without either of them noticing.

Eliza quickly said, “man buns?” as Hamilton burst out, _“kale!”_

Jefferson frowned at him. “But you drank my green juice this morning while I was in the shower. I wanted that, by the way.”

“I’m going to find my date.” Eliza walked away as Hamilton began to gear up for a thorough, off-the-cuff anti-kale argument, swiftly silenced by Jefferson pulling him in for a slow, lingering kiss. She smiled. She knew that trick.

 

*********************

 

_Silence hung in the air after the last word was spoken. Eliza blinked, re-orienting herself to her surroundings._

_“Well?” Hamilton’s voice wavered, unsure again, after an hour and a half of performing in character. He sat up a little straighter and pasted on an air of bravado. “I know it needs work, it’s just a draft--”_

_“Where do I sign?”_

_Five heads swiveled to look at Burr in unison. He smiled. “This is the follow-up to_ Benedict _I’ve been looking for. I don’t need any further persuasion.”_

_Hamilton nodded, in slight disbelief. “Wow. Okay.” He looked at Eliza._

_She sighed, smiling. “Guess I’ll have to carry you through another show, Alexander.” She thought his eyes might have started to fill with tears as he smiled back, blinking. He stood up abruptly, pacing for a moment, before sitting down on the floor and lying back, staring at the ceiling, his hands forgotten by his sides._

_Lafayette laughed, glancing at Laurens before calling to his prone body, “John and I of course are in.”_

_Hamilton squeezed his eyes shut, whispering his thanks. There was a pause._

_Jefferson had remained quiet since uttering his final line in the show. He stood now, and Hamilton opened his eyes to watch him approach. As he paused, looking down, Eliza thought he might have been about to extend a hand to pull Hamilton up. Instead, Jefferson gracefully lowered himself to the floor next to him, his head propped up in one hand, the other reaching out to rest lightly on Hamilton’s chest. It was so achingly intimate that Eliza felt like she should look away. But they knew they weren’t alone. It had taken her a while to figure out that they were all just stumbling forward, silently asking each other to bear witness in one way or another, so they wouldn’t be forgotten._

_Hamilton turned to Jefferson, speaking softly. His voice carried in the quiet of the room. “It just feels like I’ve spent my whole life as the object or the perpetrator of one betrayal after another. I’m just… tired, you know? I’m trying to end the cycle. This one’s about forgiveness.”_

_“Forgiveness,” Jefferson replied softly._

_He smiled wryly. “Yeah. Can you imagine?”_

_There was another pause, as Hamilton and Jefferson seemed to soundlessly continue their conversation. Laurens cleared his throat and said, “I do have some notes.”_

_Hamilton started and raised his head slightly. “Notes?”_

_"Yes.” Laurens licked a finger and started thumbing through the pages. “About the third of the way through Act I, there’s an abrupt tonal shift that interrupts the story momentum… Alex, are you listening?”_

_Jefferson chuckled and stood, this time reaching down to pull Hamilton to his feet. “Better pay attention to the man; he knows his stuff. I had the same reaction to that part.”_

_Laurens stopped flipping through the script and raised an eyebrow in surprise at Jefferson, who shrugged. He started to smile, then resumed his no-nonsense exterior. “Right, page 32. See, right there, he had just come up against his first obstacle, and the next page, it’s like he’s forgotten all about it.”_

_Eliza offered a suggestion to fix it, and they all nodded in agreement, marking up the scripts. She checked her phone for the first time since she got to the theater, and saw a new message from Angelica._

 

_Angelica: Wedding dress emergency! Ugh, I can’t believe I just became a person that says shit like that. I’m sorry. Can you come down to the shop?_

 

_Eliza quickly replied and started packing up her things. Hamilton looked up at her in disbelief. “You’re leaving?”_

_She laughed. “Yes, Alexander, you are not the only thing in the world that requires my attention. I’ll wait to hear from John about next steps. Oh, and I know an extremely talented set designer if you need one.” She smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder and picking up her bag. “Later, boys.”_

_Stepping out into the sunshine, she took a deep breath. Forgiveness. Yeah, she could imagine._

_It was only a matter of time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This was so much fun to write, and your comments truly kept me going. If you're reading and commenting in the future, they are appreciated in advance :) Thank you Elsby72 for helping me crack the actual plot of this thing to figure out where all these characters were going. Happy New Year to all - spread kindness, resist oppression to civil liberties, and make a resolution to create something! Tell your story.
> 
> xoxo


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